Against My Nature
by Araceil
Summary: Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent. His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.
1. Chapter 1

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter One**

Head trauma was the worst.

Huddled under a rock in the middle of buttfuck nowhere in the African wilds, Harry Potter was thoroughly miserable, and not a little upset with his current lot in life. With one hand up over his face, sleeve shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, he couldn't even find the energy to shiver as multiple cool scaly forms slithered atop, and inside his clothes in search of body heat.

Because of course the rock he crawled under just so happened to be filled with snakes. Of course.

Talkative snakes who wouldn't shut up and let a guy suffer in peace and silence until his brain felt less like soup attempting to dribble itself free from every facial orifice he may or may not possess – and a few he was fairly certain he shouldn't have had that morning.

He didn't even know what happened, _that_ was why he really hated head trauma. The lost hours.

Or in his case, the lost _day_ and a bit.

Despite the nice medi-witch that had seen to him when he first stumbled into Diagon Alley earlier that day, he still had a lump the size of an occamy egg on the side of his skull, and a melon sized bruise surrounding it. No broken skin anymore, and thankfully he still had both of his wands, and his auror equipment, but there was a distinct smell of time-dust and that weird reek he'd only encountered in the Department of Mysteries in the sandy creases of his robes that made his stomach turn with ' _please no_ '.

He'd landed in the middle of Diagon Alley, on a chilly spring morning, blood down his face, much to the shock of onlookers who immediately rushed to his aid upon recognising his uniform for what it was. He quickly found himself ushered onto a chair outside a cafe, people calling for a healer, and a cup of tea being pushed into his hands a moment before a plump witch with a brisk manner was in front of him. With his skull fractured in several places, she had been quick to pull her wand and get to work on him. Skull fractures, broken nose, she had commented on how he was a handsome young man as she reduced the swelling and syphoned off the blood.

That had been when he noticed the newspaper on the table beside him.

Daily Prophet, April 11th _**1925**_. Articles about _Grindelwald._

Even with his brain having all the processing power of a flobberworm in a hamster ball at that exact moment, he knew he shouldn't be there. He knew he **shouldn't** be there. Couldn't be there. Had to leave because it was 1925. It was almost a decade before the second world war was due to really kick off, and he _could not be there_. He remembered staggering away from the table, garbling something about the date being wrong, that oh god, what happened, the date was wrong, it had to be – and then before the well meaning witches and wizards that had helped him to his seat could do much more than reach out, he fled. Apparating as far and as hard as he could.

He hit dirt, and the sun was like icepicks through his brain when he looked up. The world swam, and he crawled, dry heaving all the way, into the shady hollow he now called his own, ignoring the startled and terrified hissing of the occupants until one threatened to bite him. That he was once again speaking Parseltongue did not even register to him as he sluggishly assured the serpents he just wanted to hide in their shade, that he would gladly let them use his body heat and avoid the birds overhead if only he could stay for a while. They let him, and now he had to deal with cool slithering forms managing to wriggle their way into his robes, up his shirt sleeves, or down his collar.

" **Ss** Bite me and I'll kill everyone, **sS** " he warned just the once before allowing himself to fall into a painful sleep.

 _ **000**_

Of all the Aurors in his graduating class, Harry was perhaps the only one that took to learning as many languages as possible. He knew the most out of everyone in the entire department for that matter, and when questioned as to why, would only cite that his luck being what it was, he had better learn before he had need of it.

He could only be thankful for his rare moment of clarity and the years of dedication he spent on linguistics when he awoke to a language that, while he wasn't fluent in it, was at least passably familiar with.

" _I'm alive,_ " he managed to croak out in what he hoped was passable Afrikaans.

" _You are in a nest of vipers, white man. How is this so?_ " a male voice demanded incredulously, accompanied by the hissing and spitting of several of Harry's bunkmates telling his visitor to go away.

Harry rasped a chuckle, " _Bribery. It isn't so hard when you know how._ " He slowly extracted himself from the hollow. He didn't feel anywhere near so awful anymore, the nap had done him a lot of good, but he was still a little woosy, so he took it slow and careful so as not to step on any of his hosts and earn a bite. He cringed from the bright sunlight overhead in pain, and then began the arduous process of removing serpents from his clothing. " _I don't suppose you could tell me where I am, could you?_ " he asked as he untucked his shirt and removed three bush vipers from his waist.

The men he was speaking to exchanged looks. Definitely magical, Harry could tell, but he couldn't identify their tribe off the top of his head. There were many magical african tribes, but sadly many of them had modernised or phased out by either force or necessity. They were both very tall, a depressingly common occurrence for Harry who had never quite managed to hit any manner of height past 5'3" thanks to his stunted growth (cheers Aunt Petunia), they wore traditional garb, brightly coloured beads of semi-precious stones and glass, and not a lot else. Harry was a little jealous. He had been out of the shade for all of three minutes and was already beginning to sweat like a pig thanks to his heavy auror robe.

The one with the most elaborately decorated skirt said something that he honestly couldn't begin to understand, he assumed it was the local name of a place, and nodded as if he knew where that was – even as he undid his trousers to rummage another viper out from his crotch.

The looks on the men's faces was quite comical as Harry nonchalantly tossed the serpent back under its rock.

The snake said some mightily unflattering things as it slithered away, to which Harry hissed some equally insulting things back. The nest burst into a raucous of jeering and laughter at that, which only sounded a lot like hissing and spitting to his audience as the snakes began to writhe in agitation.

" _You speak the tongue of serpents?_ " the guy with the fancy skirt demanded in shock. Harry nodded warily, curling his wrist carefully just in case he would have to pull his wand. The two tribesmen looked at each other before Fancy Skirt took a single step forward, " _Would you help us, white man?_ "

Help them?

" _I'd need to know what the problem is before I can say,_ " Harry admitted, a little bewildered.

Fancy Skirt nodded solemnly, " _The village is this way,_ " he announced, " _The headman will explain. Come,_ " he begged earnestly, and without any reason to actually say no, Harry shrugged and trailed after him and his companion.

The village was several hours away, and Harry ended up stuffing his heavy robe into his pocket before long (he had to remove another three serpents from his pockets, and a fourth little cheeky bastard from his sock), and he was fairly sure he was going to get sunburn on the top of his head, but he was in fairly high spirits by the time they reached the collection of traditional mud and stick huts with their very cool thatch roofs.

A few of the people gave him odd looks, Fancy Skirt stared at him challengingly as they passed a group of women with their children. Harry just tilted his head quizzically, wondering what he'd done wrong, but Fancy Skirt's expression faltered for a moment before he nodded, almost in approval, and gestured at him to hurry up. Harry glanced to his companion, Lots of Necklaces, who just stared at him with an expression that the Gryffindor couldn't even begin to identify.

Shrugging, Harry followed after them to an area where a group of men and women were repairing what looked to be very fine river nets for fishing. An older man with iron grey curls, and scars climbed to his feet and approached them. Fancy Skirt did... something, Harry couldn't quite see it from the angle he was at, but it must have been some kind of warrior greeting or something.

" _My son tells me you are a Serpent Speaker, white man,_ " the headman announced slowly, with great seriousness, his son translating for him as he spoke a very different language to Afrikaans. Must be their tribal dialect maybe?

Harry nodded, " _He's not wrong. My name is Harry. He mentioned you folks needed some help, what's up?_ " he asked glancing around. Just because they _looked_ like they were living in relative peace did not make it so. And if they were interested in his Parselmouth talents, then it was likely their problems were decidedly more bestial in nature.

The headman gestured for him to walk with them, and began to lead them away from the other members of the tribe, his son translating for Harry to understand.

" _Three nights ago, a great serpent moved into our tribe's sacred lands. It attacks all who make it through the caves, and consumes them whole. We have already lost three young warriors, and an expectant mother. The sacred land is where every member of our tribe has been born, it is protection and blessings to the child to be born within the cradle of life,_ " the headman explained as they came to the top of a steer incline that swooped down across miles and miles of plains and grasslands, it was a _fantastic_ view that went on for many miles, a distant carpet of trees, a river that lead to a wide lake basin, and a long ridge of jagged rocks that jutted out from the earth as if piercing the flesh of the planet. Dark and foreboding, he could see the distant specks of life springing from rock to rock upon the distant cliff-face, the wheeling of birds, the grasslands and forest at the foot of the mountain teaming with life. It was not as desolate as one would assume at first glance.

Harry hummed, " _Has anyone gotten a good look at it yet?_ "

" _I have,_ " Fancy Skirt announced before his father could speak, taking a step forward. " _It is a red viper, much like the ones wrapped around you earlier, but larger. The size of a water-buffalo with the temper of a hippo. If you survive the nest of bees that guard the only entry into the mountain, then it will set upon you within seconds. It_ _must_ _be dealt with, before it lays its eggs!_ " the warrior declared, stamping his staff onto the hard packed sunbaked earth with passion.

A random huge ass snake just moving in one day? That... didn't sound right.

Definitely a magical snake, and if the size was any descriptor he would have thought an elderly Basilisk the culprit, but he didn't know of any species that actually resembled a natural species of snake. And if it were, why on earth had it decided to move from its original territory?

" _Has there been any local disturbances lately? Changes in herbivore habits, new predators, uh, another tribe changing territories, mating season for large predators, anything you can think of?_ " he asked frowning. He was no mythozoologist, but he was hardly an idiot. You needed at least passable knowledge as an Auror, not to mention being friends with Hagrid, Charlie, and Luna necessitated the knowledge just so you could carry a conversation with them (to say nothing of Luna's fiancé who was probably as monster mad as Hagrid but less likely to smuggle them around in his pockets).

The son translated for his father who nodded, " _There is a Nundu pair. They have recently cubbed, yet rejected the youngling. It has been seen prowling the edges of their territory snatching prey, and scavenging. The female has begun to blood her kills once more, she will be fertile soon,_ " the headman explained grimly, and Harry immediately wanted to hit something. Preferably himself.

Nundus. Only what was considered the most deadly creature in the _beast_ category, beating out the Manticore and Basilisks simply because it was a naturally occurring species and far more common than either created Dark Magic monstrosity.

Harry scratched the back of his neck, casting his mind back as much as possible to Care of Magical Creatures, and the jokes he shared with Ron and Hermione about how soon it would be until Hagrid was presenting them with one during their lessons. It started as a joke, but they went scrambling for text books none the less, just in case.

Nundus were a strange species. Huge almost dragonic leopards with pufferfish characteristics, they could be mistaken for gargantuan lions at a distance while displaying the puffed up venom sacks that corded their powerful necks. They stood at roughly the size of a three story house when fully grown, and much like Basilisks and some species of reptile, did not stop growing until their death's. Typically they were loners, coming together only to mate and raise young. A female would begin to blood her kill when her fertility cycle was kicking in, to find an appropriate mate, there would be a chase across their territory, if the male was able to keep up with her, or subdue her, then she would consent to the mating. By only consuming the blood of her prey, it would ensure she had enough energy for the run without being weighed down by excess consumption. Males would have one hell of a time keeping up with the hyper-aggressive females, fights would often break out if more than one male were trying to claim the right to mate. Once mated, the two would remain in pairs until a successful cub had been raised for a year, then they would split and the cub would remain with its father while the mother moved on to find another male. If the cub were deemed too small, or inferior, it would be rejected and the mother's fertility cycle would begin again – this time, the male that fathered the previous cub would not be permitted to mate no matter what.

Being the size that they were... It would not be considered unusual for them to pursue a large predator, and if the snake were magical that came part and parcel with a higher intelligence. It would immediately move to occupy an area that said Nundu would not be able to access. Such as a cave system.

Harry scruffed at his hair in frustration, " _Right, I think I can assume what happened. Ignoring the snake for the moment, it's unlikely to move while the Nundu are in the area, are you not concerned about the cub prowling around the local area?_ " he asked in concern. Surely they should be a little more on edge regarding the huge predator that hadn't yet learned to avoid humanity rather than a snake that wasn't actually actively doing anything?

" _The cub has already been driven away once. It will not return,_ " Fancy Skirt told him shortly, slamming his staff again.

Harry tried not to feel sorry for the creature, and the no doubt violent reaction the locals had to its attempted invasion. But it was hard. The poor thing was just a baby, and a hungry one at that.

" _Well, let's get going then,_ " he announced casually, stretching languidly, and ignoring the considering look the headman was giving him. " _The only way I'm going to know how to help is if I actually know exactly what kind of snake I'm dealing with. Some can be relocated, some can be negotiated with, so if you play your cards right, you may end up with another protector for your sacred space. If not, then I'll just kill it._ "

If it were a Basilisk then it didn't matter if it could be reasoned with, he would kill it anyway. Such creatures were not meant to exist, and the enchantments that brought about their creation would eventually warp their minds into not only madness but also evil.

And with that said, he casually jumped off the ledge, drawing yells of surprise from the men he left behind as he landed on a small rock spray and practically bounced down to the base of the cliff and started walking. He may have cheated with a smidge of a carefully applied cushioning charm, a little Arresto momentum, but it was faster than walking, and he was lazy.

A quick Point Me charm, and he knew the mountain he was heading towards was south-east. He had been walking for an hour by the time Fancy Skirt and Many Necklaces caught up.

He flashed Fancy Skirt a grin, and received a dirty look in return.

Some people, no sense of humour.

 _ **000**_

The trip was uneventful for the most part. They skirted the lake basin and made for the river where it would be shallower and there would be a lesser chance of crocs ripping their bellies open. Harry noticed how his guide only said ' _lesser_ '.

Okay, he cheated like the cheeky bastard he really was, using a hover-charm on his shoes, and literally walking on top of the water to avoid not only getting wet, but also attacked. When he got to the otherside, he _very_ carefully levitated Fancy Skirt and Many Necklaces over to join him. Many Necklaces was a bit shaken, but Fancy Skirt seemed more considering than anything else.

" _You are skilled with magic, white man,_ " he observed thoughtfully.

Harry snorted, " _Harry. My name is Harry. And I would hope so by this point. I wouldn't have made it far in Magical Law Enforcement if I weren't_ ," he pointed out. Though given his name, and accomplishments in the war, he could have been as skilled as Goyle and they probably would have given him the DMLE department on a silver platter if he asked for it.

Fancy Skirt nodded, " _That means you are powerful_."

Harry glanced at him from the corner of his eye, wondering what his angle was as he felt a small fissure of unease. Was this some kind of trap?

" _Yes,_ " he confirmed with absolute confidence, stopping, and looking Fancy Skirt dead in the eye. " _Very._ "

Fancy Skirt leaned back, clearly intimidated but trying not to let it show as piercing green eyes bored dark obsidian black without mercy. Harry was powerful. And if this was a trap, Fancy Skirt had best be aware of just what he was tangling with before he made that stupid decision.

Slowly, the headman's son nodded jerkily.

And they kept walking.

Harry mentally cursed himself. Now things were just awkward. Fuck.

Many Necklaces started shouting then, he darted off into the undergrowth, leaving both Harry and Fancy Skirt to follow.

" _What's going on?!_ " Harry called as he flitted along behind Fancy Skirt (was this guy ever going to introduce himself? Harry was starting to feel a little bad about referring to him by just a piece of clothing).

" _Dakarai has seen someone, they are injured,_ " Fancy Skirt told him as he leapt over a small fallen log that Harry had to roll under because he wasn't tall enough to jump it.

Fancy Skirt skidded to a stop, Harry close behind, as Many Necklaces (Dakarai) knelt beside a young white man in a dusty white shirt covered in tears and dry blood. He wore brown trousers tucked into sturdy boots, a white shirt, clean bandages around his wrists indicating that he'd had time to at least try to do something about his injuries, and was slumped under a tree in the shade, looking as though he had simply toppled to the side as he passed out on top of his leather suitcase.

There was a wand in his free hand.

" _Stand aside,_ " Harry commanded as he immediately began to reach for his field kit.

It was a well known fact in the Auror Corps that Harry couldn't heal so much as a papercut. He never explained why, he didn't want to, especially when Skeeter decided to draw him through the mud for it once it became public knowledge (famous historic Parselmouths were all amazing healers, is this a sign of Harry Potter going Dark? Read more on page 3). But that just meant he had the most well stocked first aid kit of everyone in the Ministry and even St Mungos. It meant that when Harry sat for remedial potions, he paid _specific_ attention to medical potions. Even going so far as to look into muggle methods of helping people and combining the two. He may not be able to use charms and spells, but he gained his qualification as a certified First Aid-Healer in other ways.

He cast several sensory and scanning charms before cursing and unfolding his whole potions kit in front of Dakarai and Fancy Skirt's fascinated gazes.

Curly Hair had been attacked by a Nundu. Not badly, but enough to be in trouble. A little bit of clawing, some internal bruising, and poison inhalation. The spells showed signs of a recently ingested bezoar, and the use of a Bubblehead Charm, the poison had been introduced at first via the lungs, Curly had quickly spelled himself a clean air-source and choked the bezoar down, but then he had been clawed and the poison had entered into his system that way. Like most cats, Nundus had sheathed claws, and they were known to lick their paws and bodies with saliva tainted from their venom sacks.

Harry worked quickly, healing potions, muggle antiseptic, magical anti-inflammatory, cleansers, etc. He threw them into a cauldron and began to work carefully balancing them on the base level. He threw in orange zest, three drops of flobberworm brain juice, the tiniest bit of powdered ashwinder, shredded bloomslang, and three stewed horned slugs, stirring feverishly even as with his other hand he got rid of the bandages and began to cast spells.

He couldn't use healing spells, he improvised with other, more painful, spells.

Summoning charm on the venom in his bloodstream, scouring charms on his skin, water purification charms that he had to tweak with what he knew of blood chemistry in order to purify Curly's blood of the poison. If he had been awake, no doubt he would be in agony, cursing Harry out, or possibly trying to kick him.

As it was, his face only creased in pain as Harry worked.

Harry pulled his cauldron off the naked flame, snuffed it, and conjured a bowl made of ice. He poured the concoction into it, listening to the whole thing hiss and spit before casting spells, and conjuring a lid of ice to go over the top of it. It would need to cool and quickly, otherwise the ashwinder powder would react to the shredded lionfish scales and armadillo bile and cause an explosion. The flobberworm brain juice was to delay that while the orange zest would raise the acid pH level of the armadillo bile to improve the effectiveness of the recovery potions. In truth, mixing potions like this was heavily frowned upon. It was not often done, and those who were capable of it were often thought to be potions _addicts_. Harry wasn't one, but he knew that all knowledge was valuable, so he made sure to learn, just in case. Ron had looked horrified the first time Harry demonstrated this knowledge, and the Weasley clan actually staged an intervention, only to be embarrassed and relieved when their fears proved to be unfounded. Hermione had been torn between furious and amused herself because that method of potions adaptivity should have been celebrated, and studied, but was instead relegated to the shadowy corners of social unacceptability because of a couple of junkies.

He watched the ice carefully and whisked the lid off the second the potion turned a nice petroleum jelly shade of clear-white. Using a butter knife, he began to slather Curly's injuries with the ointment, his puffy inflamed skin from the multitude of harsh spells that Harry had used on it losing some of their redness almost immediately as he worked.

He bandaged the injuries as he went, and it wasn't long before Curly was all nice and neatly bandaged up, his colour significantly improved along with his breathing – there was nothing much Harry could do about that beyond reapply the bubblehead charm and tweak the oxygen levels.

Actually... maybe he could!

He had cactus flowers in here somewhere.

 _ **0000**_

 **And that's the end of Chapter One.**

 **Merry Christmas.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Two**

Newt woke up feeling a lot better than he expected to.

After having that run in with the abandoned Nundu cub, he had known he was poisoned. It wouldn't be lethal, an infant Nundu was born with only mild poison, it was as they suckled from their mother that it would become more and more potent, once that suckling period was done, the mother would move on to find a new mate, and the father would teach his cub how to wield that venom and hunt. A unique and fascinating method of child-rearing that he had yet to see in the Mytho-animal kingdom. But never the less, he was well aware he wasn't in any _truly_ significant danger, nothing he couldn't handle.

Sadly, the cub was abandoned for his collapsed venom glands, he could not inflate them properly. It was a simple enough issue, given enough time those collapsed glands would swell as they should. But the parent Nundu did not know that, they only knew their cub was unlikely to survive, so opted not to waste the energy in rearing it. If the cub survived without their aid then all the better for them because it survived and they hadn't needed to waste their energy on it, win win, they still abandoned it though. And the poor thing got in the wrong side of a few magical locals.

Newt found it hiding under a thicket, licking its wounds, whimpering in pain, hunger, and fear.

It had taken him the better part of a day to coax the poor thing out with cuts of raw meat. Poor baby was covered in open cuts and wounds, burns dotting its crumpled venom sacks from spell fire.

Healing charms had dealt with the spell burns, and unexpectedly the crumpled venom sacks – Newt ended up getting a face full of poison gas when the cub whipped around to roar at him. He didn't think he'd cast a bubblehead charm so fast before, it was almost on par with the time that Prewitt boy in Gryffindor stuffed a box of dungbombs in his bag and set them off. Newt ended up having to dump that bag, there was just no getting the smell out. The smell of said breath was almost on par with it.

Working with the bubblehead, he managed to heal the majority of the cub's wounds while it was distracted with the raw meat he kept throwing to it. It was exceptionally hungry, and that was probably what gave Newt the time to see to its injuries before he ended up with what was essentially a very _large_ kitten trying to climb into his lap. The size of a fully grown lion, Newt went down under nearly two-hundred pounds of poisonous feline whose needle-like claws lacerated the length of his arms quite by accident.

He got the cub into one of the habitats in his case, but by then he was beginning to feel the effects of the poison. He choked back a bezoar and climbed out of his suitcase to grab his backpack, feeling himself getting light headed. He managed to drop his pack into the case, but knew he couldn't risk going down the ladder-like steps, he would fall and break his neck. So it was the work of a very drunken ten minutes as he did his best with his injuries, and passed out over his case, hugging it tightly to his chest so as to keep it shut, keep it safe.

He expected to wake up with the mother of all hang-overs, feeling sick to his stomach, with infections festering in his cuts, and one hell of a sunburn. Instead, he was somewhat warm, comfortable, lying on his back, only a little groggy and sore, with the scent of _flowers_ tickling his nose.

Slowly, he peeked one eye open and saw a canvas canopy overhead. Through a bubblehead charm that had floating fushia and yellow flower petals in it.

It was still daylight, he couldn't have been out for longer than a few hours, or a day at the longest. Turning his head, he realised he was on a little wire and canvas camp-bed, not quite nude but close to it, his clothing and boots on the floor next to him, clean and folded. There was a table covered in potions ingredients, he identified a surprising assortment of different ingredients, cactus flowers, smoked shredded gillyweed, dried air-weed, and ozone-herbs to name a few. He squinted at his bubblehead charm. Someone had applied the potions and raw materials to the charm and adjusted it to... to deal with the poison inhalation he suffered earlier? That was _genius_! He had never seen spells and potions applied in concert to each other before, who on earth had rescued him?

He was in a surprisingly large space, hardly a tent and more of a pavilion with canvas walls. There was a simple ground mat on the floor, white canvas walls and roof, his camp-bed, his suitcase at the foot of it, and the table with the potions supplies on top of it. Nothing else. If Newt had been a betting man, he would have thought the pavilion were conjured solely for his benefit, because it certainly wasn't being used for anything else.

Pushing himself upright, he paused as he heard voices outside. He blinked and grimaced a little, he had never been great shakes at languages, barely got his brain around Spanish, and no matter how much effort he poured into the various magical languages, he just couldn't gets his _lips_ around them. Ask him to mimic almost any animal sound and he would manage it, his favourite thing to do as a child was mimic the cries of the augrey that nested in the blackberry bushes down the end of the lane. But languages... his knuckles used to sting after every French lesson as a child, his tutor lashing at his knuckles with a wooden ruler for what she deemed an improper lack of attention to her tutelage.

He tilted his head a little, watching the entry flaps from the corner of his eyes. Almost reflexively his chin ducked a little to protect his throat as the voices outside took a sharp, almost angry tone.

That was when the flap was suddenly ripped open and – a very small young man stomped in, throwing one last parting shot over his shoulder at one of the local tribesmen who was looking very frustrated behind him, before spelling the flaps shut.

Newt felt his eyebrow climb as he heard the man outside mutter something and leave.

The young man scoffed at the 'door' before turning his attention back to Newt and jumping a little, "Jesus shit! You're awake!" he cursed, before relaxing, "Fuck, sorry, you startled me," he continued making the Hufflepuff blink a little in shock at the foul mouthed young man.

This... couldn't be the man who rescued him, could it? The genius who seamlessly combined potions and charms with healing to repair his lungs in the middle of nowhere, right?

"How are you feeling?" the young man asked kneeling down beside Newt's bed, not waiting for permission or an answer before he was already sticking his hands straight into the thick gel of the bubblehead charm to check his temperature, whether or not he had been sweating, the whites of his eyes, and even began to grope along his jawline and throat.

Newt squirmed, "I do – beg your pardon, but I don't think we've been – introduced," he objected as politely as he could, attempting to squirm away from the unwanted molestation.

He got a swat to the tip of his nose for his efforts that had him freezing out of sheer startlement, "Quit squirming, I need to check your lymph nodes," the healer scolded. Newt obediently went still now that he knew his face wasn't being fondled without reason, still considerably dismayed that this decidedly rude young man was apparently the healer he had been praising in his head only moments before. "Little bit of swelling, not too much. Take a deep breath for me," he commanded as he pulled his hands out of the goop and, Newt stiffened when the young man ducked down and pressed his ear to his chest.

"Is this really –" he began only to be prodded sharply in the side, right in a ticklish spot. He squawked and jerked to the side as the healer straightened up and treated him to a scowl.

"You got into a tangle with a Nundu cub. You're lucky we found you when we did, any longer and it's quite possible you may have had permanent repository problems for the rest of your life!" the healer scolded, "If you had been any less swift with that bubblehead charm, it's likely you would have died. Just because it was a cub you tangled with does _not_ make it any less lethal than its parents after a twenty four hour period from birth. If the breath doesn't kill you immediately, then the virulent diseases it carries will get you afterwards! I've already had to cleanse your system of at least three major lethal illnesses! On the bright side, you need never fear Small Pox anymore," he added in a vicious tone that left little to the imagination regarding his sarcasm, fingertip jabbing into the Hufflepuff's collarbone with increasing force.

Newt couldn't help but subside into the bedding feeling remarkably like a naughty school boy at the mercy of Madam Siliance, the school nurse. Which was ridiculous because he was -

"Now, take a deep breath and let me listen to your chest for any sign of fluid build up. Take ten quick breath for me," the young man commanded as he once again placed his head against Newt's chest without giving him a chance to finish formulating an indignant mental defence of himself.

He did as he was told.

And the young man sat up with a look on his face, "I need to smell your breath," he stated slowly, "I can hear some kind of fluid in there, but I'm not sure what kind it is. I'm going to cancel the bubblehead charm," he explained before with a simple clawing motion with his hand had the odd gel around Newt's face tearing open, and then vanishing like the popping of a soap-bubble.

He took a deep breath and was gratified by the familiar earthy scents of sunbaked dirt, dried grasses, a whiff of animal dung, and now the various colliding odours of the potions ingredients beside him. He fought not to flinch and shield his neck when the healer once again appeared in his personal space. Being this close, he couldn't help but notice the strange scar on the young man's forehead, a spell burn long healed, but it was deep, and in the shape of a rune of power.

Suddenly the healer was pulling back with a satisfied nod, wearing the hard expression of a man who was not surprised by his own competence.

"Your lungs are fine, the fluid will drain before the end of the day, try not to over exert yourself. Now, arms," he commanded as he reached for Newt's hand.

This was getting ridiculous, he moved back and pinned the healer with a _Look_ , "Enough," he stated firmly, making the young man frown at him indignantly in thwarted anger, "As grateful as I am to you for seeing to me, I would _very_ much like to know who you are, and exactly why you are here!" he proclaimed. In his experience, wizards rarely show up in the wilds of Africa with the best of intentions. Especially not with such a well stocked potions kit.

A dark eyebrow shot up, and the young man sat back.

"Auror Harry P-everell, British Ministry of Magic. Got into an accident, cracked my skull open yesterday. Woke up under a rock here in Africa, and the locals asked me for a bit of help. We found you on our way to deal with some manner of snake problem," he explained blandly before rummaging for something in his pocket, sticking his arm in up to the elbow in front of Newt's astonished gaze (he shouldn't be, he had created a space roughly the size six quidditch pitches in his suitcase, but he'd _never_ seen or heard of it being done on someone's trouser pockets), and withdrew a familiar heavy woollen auror robe. He rummaged his I.D. badge out, and flashed it at him. Newt blinked rapidly, tilting his head. He had good eyes and was able to memorise a bit before it was snapped shut and stowed away once more. His rescuer was a Gryffindor, Pureblood, he was authorised for multiple wand usage (one of which was phoenix feather), and he was only 5'3" in height. He didn't manage to catch a glimpse of his date of birth, more interested in house, blood status, and wand – that information could tell him an awful lot more about his rescuer than a date of birth.

"Gryffindor..." he observed.

Harry rolled his eyes, "I am not here to steal a lion," he declared, sounding almost bored and Newt couldn't help but quirk a grin.

"Why ever not?" he asked, tone bordering on teasing. Clearly that was some kind of inside joke.

He got a bland look in return, "My dog would never stand for a cat in the house, no matter how big it is," he informed the Hufflepuff quite dryly, "What house were you?" he asked as he grabbed Newt's arm and pulled it towards him.

"Hufflepuff myself," he admitted, tone tinged with pride, eyeing the Gryffindor warily but he just nodded.

"You want to take a honeybadger home then?" the auror asked dryly.

Newt blinked, and peered sideways at him, "Honeybadger? I- I do believe I am unfamiliar with that creature," he admitted, curious and fascinated despite himself. There were _very_ few creatures he didn't know about these days.

Harry snorted as he casually spelled his bandages off with a long dark wand made of holly wood, "They're a muggle creature, locally known as Ratel, you've probably seen them around here actually. Silver backs, black body, known to give precisely zero fucks about what they attack and try to eat."

Newt shook his head, "Nnno, I can't recall any creature by that description. How big are they? You said they were a muggle animal, so they must not be very large," he theorised as the auror examined the cuts on his arms. Even Newt was surprised by how good they looked, the bandages themselves were bloody, and yellow with pus and discharge, but his skin was only slightly pink and raised. He watched as Auror Peverell kneaded them a little, and it hurt, but there was no tearing of his skin, or white discharge, the young man nodded, pleased with the result before dragging a stone jar from the table to his side. A potion Newt had never seen before was cut out with a butter knife and then spread liberally over the cuts before bandages were conjured to wrap around the wound.

"They're about thirty-thirty five inches long, eleven tall. They've got long narrow bodies and long legs. Known to kill and eat most anything smaller than them, and go for the throat or genitalia of anything bigger in a chance to do the same. If there's one non-magical creature you don't want to tangle with, that's the one I'd pick. They walk off snake bites, then track the snake that bit them, and eat it in revenge, because fuck that guy," the Gryffindor explained mirthfully as he reached for Newt's other arm and began the same process. "Always thought honeybadgers would have been more appropriate than a British badger for Hufflepuff. One of the girls in my year was aiming to be director of the DMLE, she has a good shot too. Most of the aurors I actually work with are puffs, you lot are scarier than anyone at Hogwarts thinks you are. Sneakier too, they never realise until much much later," he added with a sideways look at Newt that told him he would not be so easily fooled.

Newt offered him his best attempt at a charming smile.

Auror Peverell's expression was amused, but also told him in no uncertain terms he was fooling no one.

"Right, well, you're as good as I can get you," the Gryffindor announced, giving the bandaged wrist in his hand a slap that made Newt open his mouth in a silent yelp before he got to his feet. "Give me a few to pack all this up, and then I'll leave you to get dressed."

"Thank you, Auror Peverell," Newt said, quirking a half smile as the dark haired young man flicked his wand and summoned all of his ingredients back into his kit and packed it into his auror gear.

"Just Harry. I'm not on duty," he told the Hufflepuff with a smile before ducking out of the flaps to the rapid Afrikaans of his guide.

Newt heard the Gryffindor retort something with a tone of sarcasm, and the tribesman take a tone of irritation with him. He shook his head in mirth, Gryffindors, able to frustrate _anyone_ to the point of frothing violence no matter the culture. His brother was perhaps the only one he had met who hadn't quite managed it, instead of drove Newt to distraction with his frustration instead, but he was somewhat sure that was just something that all brothers did.

Swinging himself out of the bedsheets, Newt dressed quickly, taking a moment to appreciate the cleaning and repair work done to his socks and shirt as he did so. One dressed, he charmed the tent flaps shut, and quickly moved to his suitcase. Risky with an Auror within spitting distance, but he had to make sure everything and everyone inside was settled before he could risk going any length of time without supervising them. One quick trip, ten minutes, a quick feeding, and then he would be out.

He quickly slid down to the bottom of the ladder, and immediately moved towards the various feeding containers.

Thankfully the Nundu cub was sleeping, he had scraped himself a small rocky outcropping to lounge on and was quite happily snoozing there. Newt carefully charmed his particular enclosure on his way past as he began to feed the other creatures. He took his time with the graphorns, the female was in her first trimester of her pregnancy, and if he wasn't mistaken, she was expecting at least two foals. He was monitoring her condition carefully and noting it as extensively as he could.

With everyone fed as quickly as he could, and his newest arrival now warded into his enclosure, Newt hurried out of his suitcase and breathed a sigh of relief when he surfaced and found no one present. Hauling his pack out once again, he quickly moved to strap his suitcase to it so he wouldn't lose it or damage it while trekking through the African wilderness once again.

Slapping some sunscreen on, Newt left the tent and was only mildly surprised to find himself in the exact same spot he had been when he passed out, under the same tree even.

Auror Peverell – Harry, was arguing with the two tribesmen, or rather, just the one while the other glanced between them, clearly not understanding the language they were snipping at each other in. Newt didn't even try to talk, he was quite hopeless at Afrikaans though he made certain to memorise three simple phrases just in case 'I don't speak Afrikaans', 'do you speak English', and 'where is the toilet'.

"Erm, ahem," he coughed a little when the argument showed no sign of slowing down or stopping now that he had shown up, Harry got the last word in before turning on heel to look at Newt. Behind him the tribesman sighed, and shook his head in annoyance. "You mentioned something about a snake problem? A magical snake?" he asked curiously.

Auror Peverell nodded, "Not sure what breed, but a large magical serpent has moved into their tribe's holy land and eaten about four people attempting to gain access. About three days ago? Yeah. Supposedly the local Nundu female has started blooding her kills again after she rejected the cub that roughed you up. Chances are the snake in question fled into the mountain tunnels in order to avoid being put on the menu. I'm going to have a word with it, see what can be done," he explained as he rolled his neck and glanced at the two tribesmen, "These two are pretty insistent we get it sorted as soon as possible and kill it. They haven't quite cottoned onto the fact that I only plan to kill it if its a Basilisk."

Newt stared.

"And you... run into Basilisks often, do you?" he found himself asking almost faintly.

Auror Peverell wrinkled his nose, "More often than I'd like to," he admitted in disgust, "Still. Fingers crossed. Basilisks are a pain in the ass to deal with."

The Hufflepuff made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that could have been agreement, or disbelief, or perhaps the sound to prelude the potential stroke he was about to have. Either way, the Gryffindor took it as understanding and flashed him a winning smile. Newt shook his head, pinching the back of his hand as he tried to wrap his mind around that oh-so-casually dropped nugget of information (basilisks were apparently more common out in the world than anyone would have believed, good to know, he had better practice his inanimate to animate transfiguration).

"Wh-when you said ' _have a word_ ' with it, what..." he trailed off, unable to actually think of an ending to that question as he peered up through his dirty hair at the Gryffindor who paused for a moment and flashed him a steady look.

Silence stretched between them for a moment before, "I'm a Parselmouth. So I quite literally mean exchanging words with it," he finally answered.

Newt's mouth opened as shock, horror, and excitement immediately began to war with each other. His found his eyes closing as he bounced a little in place, frowning as he tried to – he didn't even know. How was he supposed to even react to something like this?

"Can you understand dragons?" he found himself asking instead of anything truly actually important.

Peverell's eyebrow inched up, and Newt flushed in embarrassment. Of all things to say...

"No," Auror Peverell answered instead, now looking amused, "Dragon speak is remarkably akin to that of crocodile and other lizards. Snakes are different. Kind of a bit like comparing Spanish and French," he explained much to Newt's fascination.

His fingers immediately went digging into his pockets for his notebook and pencil.

 _ **000**_

Curly dogged their steps to the Hamare tribe's sacred land, asking him a multitude of questions about his Parselmouth abilities the whole while, scribbling in his little notebook with feverish excitement. His guides weren't happy with the intrusion, Fancy Skirt wanted to abandon him once Harry had finished treating his injuries in order to hasten to the sacred land (Harry would later learn that his wife was heavily pregnant and he wished for his child to be born with the blessings of the land), but the Gryffindor wouldn't hear of it.

When Harry had admitted to being a snake speaker, he had expected the fear, the confusion as well (what kind of snake speaker was a _Gryffindor_ ), but the fascination that followed was... _unexpected_. And Curly was somewhat endearing with his boundless enthusiasm and curiosity. A lot of his questions were ones that Harry had never even considered before, like if snakes in different countries had different accents, did captive/domesticated snakes behave or think differently to wild snakes, were magical snakes really more intelligent than non-magical ones, just how intelligent _were_ they, etc, etc. There were personal questions peppered in there, like how he was related to Slytherin, what was his upbringing like, did he believe that muggles were dangerous. They were difficult questions to answer, especially without giving too much of himself away. Harry kept his answers on personal things short and to the point. He wasn't related to Slytherin in any meaningful way, he gained the talent in a magical accident as a child, he wasn't born with it; he lived with his abusive muggle relatives until he graduated, and moved in with his bestfriend's older brother; and he believed that people were people, and people whether they had magic or not were dangerous as a whole.

After that, Curly stopped asking such personal questions, and stopped his, admittedly discreet, attempts at interrogating him. Instead his interest became totally academic from that point on, and Harry could only be grateful for that, even if he did have to be careful about how he answered; a lot of things he knew and took for granted had not yet even been discovered or theorised at this point in time.

They passed into the forest that bordered the mountains before he fell at least a little quiet. The two wizards observing the broken trees and shredded undergrowth as they moved along in the wake of a truly gargantuan path through the trees.

"What kind of snake could do something like this?" Curly asked in a hushed tone as Harry grimaced in discomfort, toeing the ground with his hands on his hips as he glared at the floor, Dakarai and Fancy Skirt lingering in the forest rather than risk setting foot into the obvious trail of destruction, muttering about curses. "Auror Peverell?" Curly prompted, making Harry look up at him through his fringe.

Harry grimaced, pulling a face as he tasted the words on his tongue.

"Basilisk."

 _ **0000**_

 **Chapter two finished! And we have a Newt! yaaay**

 **People may be a smidge confused about my characterisation of Newt, and while yes I will agree that he is a cinnamon roll, you're all kind of forgetting that he isn't** **actually** **shy, and no, he doesn't have anxiety. Autism to a degree I can buy, I mean, no one thinks I have autism but surprise, I'm just high-functioning. No, Newt is just** **very** **good at what he does, he works with animals all the time, to the point where he probably feels more comfortable with creatures than he does with people because he understand them better. In the film you can see it in the way he ducks his chin to hide his throat, hunches slightly with his arms forward ready to protect his vulnerable stomach, how he walks through New York, how he doesn't meet anyone's eyes for particularly long, but he's always tilting his head in order to listen a bit better. He moves very quietly, as evidenced in the Goldsteins' household when Queenie busts him before he can leave unlike Tina who is paying attention, it's Queenie who catches him because she can read his mind.**

 **(The actor even admits to having trained with animal handlers specifically to pick up their habits, the way they move out in the field to be quiet, and adopts it for the film when moving in New York.)**

 **Newt isn't shy. Awkward I'll grant you. But not shy. He's got no problem with interacting with people, he isn't hesitant when dealing with Gnarlak, or Picquery, or even Credence or Mary Lou Barebone. He's a little thrown to be addressed in so public a setting, but he doesn't cringe or shy away from her, or even from Jacob.** _ **He even makes a bad joke when she asks if he's a Seeker, and says he's more of a Chaser. If that isn't a quidditch reference I will literally eat my Ravenclaw hoodie.**_

 **So my depiction of Newt will probably be** **very** **different to what fanon has decreed. And I'm not even a little bit sorry. 8DD**

And yeah, I know nothing of science, but I figured that armadillo bile would be more acidic than humans since they have to deal with insect carapace and the like. Plus, magic. XDD at least it SOUNDS like I know what I'm talking about. Fake it till you make it? No? Okay. (sadface)


	3. Chapter 3

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Three**

Harry grimaced viciously as he stomped on ahead of the Mythozoologist and his guides, the three thankfully realising that he was in no mood to deal with them at the moment hung back in awkward silence. Of all the fucking creatures in the world, he had to run into another fucking Basilisk. And looking at the destruction...

The were dealing with a beast _older_ than what had been sealed in Hogwarts.

And it would have been _put_ there. So they were also dealing with a Dark Wizard Parselmouth as well.

"Christ, I'm getting flashbacks," the Gryffindor muttered venomously as they finally came to a stop at the entrance of the Hamare's sacred ground.

It was a low overhanging almost burrow, dipping down sharply into darkness, filled with the sound of ominous humming. A few bees, large black and fluffy, like flying lumps of coal whizzed lazily past him. There was a faint flavour of magic to them that had Harry frowning and reaching for his auror kit. He had a Secrecy Sensor in here somewhere, ah, there.

For Newt, he had never seen an auror in action before. Most of his recent scrape ups had involved pretty much only himself, and he had been forced to flee the scene with his rescued creatures _before_ Law Enforcement could show up and destroy them. His brother had shown him a few things, spoken about his time on the front lines, but being on the Eastern front with the Iron bellies had assured Newt to be significantly removed from much of the most _intense_ exchanges. He had seen plenty of combat but never the _other_ aspects of auror work, the investigative, the unravelling, the brain and grit work. The fact that they were currently about to enter into the lair of _apparently_ a very large basilisk and the young man only looked mildly angry at that fact was... Newt wasn't actually sure how to feel about it beyond wondering if there really was some truth in the unpleasant rumours that one had to have at least a little brain damage before being accepted into Gryffindor.

Auror Peverell pulled a long golden wire from his pocket that took him a while to recognise as a probity probe, and waved it lazily in front of the entrance to the cave, even going so far as to very carefully pick up one of the highly aggressive, yet currently docile, honeybees from the rock face to scan it. It was a little different from most probity probes, Newt noticed. For one, there were more prongs coming out of it, and some of them were tipped with what looked like precious stones, the whole thing was inlaid with carefully hand-carved runes as well, which, at this distance, he couldn't make out but could guess that improved the sensitivity and strength of the probity probe. Certainly such _adjustments_ were non-standard, he had never once seen the like of it, and if it had been common knowledge then for certain his brother would have had one commissioned for himself. Once again Newt wondered just what kind of young man had rescued him. A young genius he had never heard of, nor seen at Hogwarts (and the young man only seemed a few years his junior), but possessing of absolutely _no_ common decency or manners, and an almost frightful competence and aptitude for his chosen field that quite frankly would have made Newt feel just a smidgeon inadequate if he weren't so fascinated by his easy-going demeanour and no-nonsense straight forward clarity.

Being friends with L- with a Slytherin had taught Newt the value of privacy, and the weight of truth. To find someone so open, and honest with him was... jarring.

Everything about Auror Peverell was... as it was. As he saw it. And he seemingly had no care for what people took away from that, or from he himself.

A Parselmouth without an ounce of mystery.

Newt pressed his lips against the sudden urge to laugh. His classmates would be _so_ disappointed if they ever met this young man.

"Right, well, I can confirm there's no Dark Magic here," Auror Peverell announced, Newt breathed a sigh of relief only to stiffen when he was treated to perhaps the sharpest glare he'd ever been on the receiving end of, suddenly reminded intensely of the Slytherin headgirl in his brother's year, Dorea Black. "Do _not_ let your guard down!" the auror snarled, "That means _nothing_ in the grand scheme of things. We now have to be three- _hundred_ times more careful," he barked as he stowed the probity probe away back in his belt of pouches and tools.

"Ah, yes, of course," the Hufflepuff choked out, groping in his pockets for his wand.

Auror Peverell rolled his eyes, and barked something at their guides who immediately began to ready their spears. He glanced back at Newt just the once to make sure he had his wand at the ready before facing forward and _snapping_ his arms out straight, hands splayed, two wands shooting into hands. Newt's eyes widened in shock for all of a moment. He couldn't see any holsters. Also, that was _very_ intimidating.

He swallowed hard as Auror Peverell ventured into the cave with silent footsteps, he moved up behind the tribesmen and fell into position at the back of the group, wand held firm but loose in his hand, half an eye behind them, half an eye in front.

For all of a moment he was seized with a cold hand deep within his chest. Why was he here? Why was he walking into the lair of a _Basilisk_ with only two tribesmen and a Gryffindor with more balls than brains? He swallowed against his dry throat as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the cave wasn't as dark as he feared it would be, and he found himself freezing in astonishment as the dim cave opened up in dull twilight.

"Animals," he found himself breathing against his will, his voice hissing louder than he intended in the tense silence around them. He felt a shiver of goose-flesh from the cool gust of air, a superstitious fear rise along his forearms as he recalled that this was the sacred land of a magical tribe, and he should not forget it. The walls were decorated from ceiling to floor with paintings, frescoes of weirdly wrought animals, the childlike simplicity of form giving them a beauty that was almost dreamlike, and yet a touching resemblance to the beasts that they depicted. He could see the massive dark outlines of tusked elephants, horned rhinoceros, and as they passed, one flickered to life, a glow along its bulging forehead as it moved, an Erumpet. The wildebeest, and sassby with horns like crescent moons marching in closely packed phalanxes across the rock walls. But they weren't alone. As he turned his head to take in the spectacle around him, the figures painted across the ceiling, one or two flickering with life that only magic could give, and recognise, he picked out the sticklike human shapes that ran in pursuit of the wildlife. Fairy-beings, armed with bows and crowned with wreaths of arrows, the men each adorned with a proudly erect phallus, disproportionately large, and the women with prominent breasts and buttocks, the badges of feminine beauty exaggerated in artistic whimsy.

The paintings climbed so high up the sheer walls that the artists must have built platforms, in the fashion of muggle artists like Michelangelo, to work from. The perspectives were naïve, one human figure larger than the erumpet he was hunting, but it seemed to only deepen the almost dreamlike enchantment as he lost himself in wonder as he trailed after the three warriors, unable to tear his eyes away from a lovely depiction of a flowing waterfall of overlapping eland, ochre and red, with dewlaps and humped shoulders, so lovingly depicted that he could not even begin to casually disregard the importance of this sacred place.

The young man with the many necklaces flashed him a white smile through the gloom, seemingly pleased with his adoration of the walls, he said something that Newt with his very awkward understanding could only just manage to translate.

The Place of All Life.

He nodded, and they carried on, leaving the large chamber and its exquisite art behind.

They carefully slipped through narrow openings, Newt and Auror Peverell's shoes clinking and crunching ever so softly yet painfully loudly in the tense silence as they crept through smashed and ground open passages. A low, murmurous hum, like the sea surf could be heard ahead as they carefully moved through natural rock formations that had been forcefully defaced by the passing of something huge, and hard.

In the gloom above him as they slowly moved into another chamber, he could see strange shapes, plate-like protrusions from the walls, like the leaves of fungus growing on the trunk of a dead tree, or the multiple wings of butterflies at rest. They dangled so low that he had to duck beneath them more than once, and it was as he did so a third time, noticing that Auror Peverell was so small he needn't have to, and their guides did not even bother to straighten up as they followed him, he realised with a sudden chill where exactly he was.

The cavern was an enormous beehive.

Those deep wing-like structures were honeycombs, so massive that each would contain over hundreds of gallons of honey. In the dull light, now aware of what he was looking at, he could _see_ the insects swarming over the combs, glimmering dully in the poor light, and he remembered the stories he read at Hogwarts of african bees in the memoires of travelling wizards.

He felt his breath stuttering to a halt as his skin began to crawl. He forced himself not to run, feeling a cold sweat begin to itch between his shoulderblades as he nervously wet his lips. He followed the figures up ahead, and flinched as the swarming masses of venomous insects shifted, their humming chorus seeming to rise angrily as they moved deeper into the cavern. The sound was enough to nearly deafen him and his grip became white knuckled on his wand.

And then...

He saw something shift up ahead, and a low ominous scrape of scales on stone.

Auror Peverell straightened up and took three steps forward, and Newt felt like the world narrowed to a single breath.

A flash from the rocks, a single movement from Auror Peverell, a shout from the tribesmen. Newt dropped to the ground, and Auror Peverell _Hissed_.

All movement seemed to cease for a all of a minute, the ominous humming chorus of the bees continued unimpeded, and Newt looked up to see the two africans flat prone on the floor, their staffs practically writhing with magic in their hands, and Auror Potter stood between them and a snake whose face was the size of a hippogriff. A snake that stared at them with intelligent vibrant green eyes, a single horn upon its nose.

Newt goggled.

An... an egg tooth?

But...

He watched as Auror Peverell glared at the tribesmen, gesturing them to pull back and away, the glare on his face particularly fearsome. Newt shifted backwards, being careful not to disturb any of the bees, he stuck his wand between his teeth and began to rummage in his pockets for his notebook and pen.

He barely noticed when the two young men fled completely out of the cavern, and the beehive, too focused on the young, oh so _young_ serpent that twitched in watchful askance in the direction of the young men. Peverell shook his head and hissed at her, lowering the open palm he had towards her, warding her off.

He slid the wands away, wherever it was he had them hidden.

And Newt watched with wide hazel eyes as _two more heads_ peered out of the darkness. Auror Peverell hissed at them, and the first head flicked its tongue out, it moved a little and Newt could see in the dim light it was scaled not unlike a hungarian horntail, but instead of its scales being pointed, they were more leaf-shaped, like armour plates that ended in points. Its eyes were disproportionately large for its head, and even though the lighting was dim, he estimated it to have orangey red colouring, and a cream coloured belly. In all, it _looked_ to be a very unsafe serpent, but that egg tooth, and the way Auror Peverell's body language softened entirely, how he tilted his head and gentled his tone, even going to far as to reach out and run his hands across the face of the closest snake. It's siblings were almost identical save for the colour of their eyes, while the first snake possessed gem-like green eyes several shades more watered down than Auror Peverell's, the other two had eyes of blue and red respectively, with the one that had the red eyes also possessing two black tipped scales above its eyes that almost gave it the comical appearance of possessing eyebrows. Angry eyebrows at that. Newt couldn't stop himself from making a specific mention of that in his notes, he found it quite charming.

"You can come out now," Auror Peverell called over to him, gently rubbing Green's snout, he sounded relieved and Newt couldn't blame him, he hadn't particularly wished to tangle with a basilisk either. "I was mistaken," he crooned almost gently as Blue crowded in to receive some affection from him as well.

"What are they?" Newt asked as he slowly crept closer.

"They?" Auror Peverell echoed sounding amused, " _She_ is a runespoor, and a very young one at that," he corrected gently.

Newt felt his mouth go dry as he finally got close enough to see, and see her fully.

She was magnificent, there was no other word for it. Eighty feet long he would estimate, tail tip to egg-tooth, her three heads splitting from a queerly shaped almost ribcage like structure that he had seen of similar likeness on earthworms, a kind of little tube, a little like a neckbrace. Green looked to be the head on the left, Blue in the middle, and Red on the right. She was twisted into pretzel like shapes around the various rock formations and cracks in the tunnels, several of her scales were crushed and sore looking, and she was worryingly thin, her nose patchy and dry looking.

Auror Peverell was hissing gently to Green, Red was spitting something at them while Blue lifted herself to twine over Green and investigate Newt.

"Hello beautiful," he greeted, unable to stop the grin that pulled the corners of his mouth, enchanted by the sky-like shade of her almond shaped eyes. Blue didn't seem to have the needle like pupils of the other heads, instead, her eyes were a pure unbroken blue, making it look as if she were blind as she slowly approached him, tongue flickering out to taste the air. And even though he knew he should be at least a little nervous at her intentions, he couldn't be, not now. She was just a baby, she was just scared.

Harry watched the Mythozoologist from the corner of his eye as he listened to the story of the young runespoor, well he was completely smitten, it was a good thing he was coochie-cooing up to the middle head, she was the most docile of them and would probably appreciate his attention more than the other two. The right head was already calling her siblings stupid, saying how they should eat him and be done with it already.

Harry laughed at her, " **Ss** Older and stronger snakes than you have tried and failed. I would turn you into a coat before you got your teeth into me, firecracker, **sS** " he teased her as he smoothed his hands over the left head's eye ridges. " **Ss** But I will see what I can do for you, **sS** " he promised with a nod to her. " **Ss** These are claimed territories, you cannot stay here or you will be killed. Give me some time to try and find your mother, if I cannot, then I will find somewhere safer for you to nest. **sS** "

The right head exploded in fury, " **Ss** IT IS A TRAP! **sS** "

Harry rolled his eyes and snapped his wand out, a huge rubber exercise ball popping into existence in front of him, just as her foot-long highly venomous fangs sank into it. She gagged, trying to lever her fangs out, trying to spit it out, but the ball was just that smidge too big for her to do so. And Harry may have applied a sticking charm to it as well. He laughed, and the left head laughed with him.

" **Ss** Oh, that does not look tasty at all, **sS** " the middle head observed from where she had been nuzzling the zoologist practically into the floor, Curly looked like he was having the time of his life, grinning from ear to ear as he helped her shed the last of her dry patchy and more than likely itchy scales.

" **Ss** It isn't. But it'll shut her up until I get back for you, **sS** " he told the other heads with a chuckle. "Come on Curly, we've got work to do!" he called back to the mythozoologist who quickly scrambled to his feet.

"R-really? But what about the runespoor?" he asked as Harry began to march back out of the cavern, paying no more attention to the beehive than he would a painting of one at Hogwarts.

"She can't stay here, so we're going to look for her mother. They were attacked by that Nundu a few days ago, so I'm going to see if mama snake got away. If not, I'll look into where the nearest reserve in Burkina Faso is and send her there," he explained briskly as they ploughed their way out of the cavern to exclamations of alarm from their tribal companions.

"But – there are no reserves in Burkina Faso!" the mythozoologist protested in abject confusion chasing after him.

Harry paused frowning, "I could have sworn I saw mention of it in my Care of Magical Creatures text," he complained.

Curly pulled a face, "Kettleburn's texts are all Ministry approved, they never mentioned any reserves, only harvesting abattoirs to collect useful potion ingredients," he seethed. Harry found his eyebrow inching up, but could understand the sentiment. Curly caught his expression and flushed, but met his gaze head on instead of wilting into embarrassed silence.

Harry nodded, "Fair enough. Then we'll have to find somewhere else for her to go if we can't find her mother. Any ideas?" he asked, making Curly jolt.

"Me?"

"You are the mythozoologist. You'd probably have a better idea of the kind of environment she needs, I can just talk to her, doesn't mean I know a damn thing about her habitat requirements, what she eats, or any of the other important stuff. Snakes weren't exactly a popular study subject, if you recall," he added pointedly, and Newt grimaced. Yes, he did recall. He also recalled L- certain Slytherins discussing experimentation into Basilisk breeding, theories into whether or not the type of toad impacted the kind of snake hatched, or would that be the breed of chicken the egg came from, would fertilised or unfertilised egg be needed, did it matter, what about temperature and incubation, how long could the egg be removed from under the toad before the basilisk would no longer be viable, how long from laying would the egg itself be viable if not placed under the toad. All such questions they had to discuss between themselves in privacy, because such questions and curiosity would have given them a very short trip to the DMLE, and a much longer one somewhere significantly colder and more depressing.

He raked a hand through his hair, "Well... She's an African breed of snake so probably an environment a lot like this. Taking into account domesticated snakes, we should be looking at rocky areas, hot climates, caves or lakes near-by large enough to lower her blood temperature. A snake that size would need a fairly sizeable local population of prey animals, wildebeest herds would probably be best," he theorised before sighing, "In all honesty Auror Peverell, where she is now is absolutely ideal for her species at a guess."

"And if she stays there, the locals will kill her regardless. Sorry Curly, but she's got to go somewhere else," the Gryffindor told him apologetically, but firmly.

Newt took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, "I'll... I will think of something," he said instead.

Auror Peverell nodded solemnly, "Alright, I'll leave it in your capable hands. But remember it's just a back up plan. Hopefully her mother managed to escape the nundu attack and is only licking her wounds elsewhere." Newt watched him shrewdly and nodded slowly.

Neither of them had high hopes it seemed.

 _ **000**_

Harry did indeed find the young runespoor's mother.

He also found the Nundu couple that killed and ate most of her _still there_ tearing into the tough snakeskin to eat the flesh inside. Neither of the gargantuan felines noticed him as he watched them for a moment and sighed.

Well shit.

He called the search off with the others via his patronus, Prongs painting quite the majestic image as he spoke with Harry's voice to the mythozoologist who was _boggling_ at the use of the exceptionally high-level light magic being used as a glorified owl post message. Harry caught up with him outside the cave to the runespoor without their tribal comrades and just took a moment to breathe.

"Tell me you know _somewhere_ she can go, a place we can put her where she'll be safe?" Harry asked tiredly as he crouched down against the stone, ignoring a small black bee as it landed on his shoulder.

Newt swallowed, "Not a place as such," he hedged nervously because he knew _damn_ well his suitcase was six different kinds of illegal across several major crimes.

He was treated to a hard stare from unnaturally _green_ eyes, "Curly, I am not here on official business. I was sleeping off a concussion under a rock. If you have somewhere you can put the damn snake where she isn't going to get butchered for potion ingredients or forced to vomit up eggs gets until her oesophagus collapses and she suffocates on her own broken cartilage, _tell me_ ," he stressed.

Newt leaned back, lips pressed together in startlement. Yes, when put like that, yes.

"I can make her a habitat in my suitcase until we can find an ideal location or a reserve for her to go to," he explained quickly, and, for the first time, and the first _person_ to have ever been told about it, Auror Peverell accepted him at face value. He _believed_ him.

"What should I collect for it?" he asked, pushing to his feet and dusting himself off.

The Hufflepuff spluttered, "W-wait, you believe me? You're not – you're not going to demand I prove it?" he spluttered.

The Gryffindor gave him a Look, "My bestfriend turned her handbag into a library bigger than Hogwarts. Creature habitats in a suitcase are somewhat easier to swallow, especially when you know a guy who turned his trunk into a makeshift prison for citizen arrests."

Newt opened his mouth a moment before blinking and closing it, "I'll need rock samples from the cave, temperature readings from a good basking spot, water samples from the local lake, three dead wildebeest to feed her, and do you have the ingredients to make up enough scale care cream? I only have the one gallon," he asked rapidly instead of anything else. Auror Peverell was clearly one of those people who preferred to get to work once he had an idea of what he should be doing.

He shook his head, "Not for the whole length of her. I can gather enough ingredients from the local surroundings to make enough for the three heads. Anything more and I would risk fucking the local ecology." Newt shot him a sharp look of confused disbelief.

A wizard that even _knew_ of the word ecology was rare, someone who could guess at the impact their actions would _have_ on said ecology?

Who was this man?

Newt shook it off, they had more important things to deal with at the moment. There was a child in desperate need of saving, and right now, the two of them were the only ones looking to actually _save_ her instead of either kill or exploit her. He would have to cling to that thought, the fact that Auror Peverell wasn't even objecting to using his suitcase was... reassuring, though Newt was going to have to keep a close eye on him and make sure he didn't try to run off with it.

Auror Peverell marched off, and vanished in a sharp crack of golden edged apparation.

Newt swallowed and whisked his pack off, he needed to create a multi-faceted environment for the runespoor as quickly as possible, before Auror Peverell came back with the needed materials he would later be filling said environment with.

 _ **0000**_

 **You guys all thought it was a Basilisk. I'll admit, I did lead you into that, but I also said on both DeviART and Tumblr it was a runespoor. XDDD**

 **If you're confused by the size thing, as the comic relief copy of Fantastic Beasts claimed they were something like ten feet, and obviously I've gone for** **very** **different sizes. There's a concept art image in the Fantastic Beasts book I have that shows the Runespoor as** **significantly** **larger, the same size as the Basilisk at Hogwarts to be honest, with one of the heads wearing a cone of shame because it keeps biting the others. XDD I just had to include her. There was a cinematic note about how she was just a baby, and the camera was supposed to pan out to her significantly larger mother, but I opted to leave that out. Given the size of her, it would have been too much to include the parent in Newt's poor overstuffed suitcase.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Four**

Never let it be said that Harry wasn't a nosy son of a bitch, nor efficient when he needed to be.

He had collected everything he needed for the runespoor's enclosure within half an hour, having already earmarked good locations on his search for the mother, and possessing knowledge of charms, and ingredient shortcuts for potions that hadn't yet been discovered or created yet. Gathering the ingredients was done between collecting the needed environment supplies, _accio_ was a very useful spell and a lot of wizards and witches often forgot that.

But the main reason for his haste in acquiring the materials was now in front of him.

The suitcase.

He could already tell it was a work of art on par with some of Hermione's greatest charm weaving and was _honestly_ quite impressed. But not enough to respectfully wait outside. He was a right nosy bastard after all. And yes, alright, a little part of him wanted to ruffle Curly's feathers. Harry never claimed to be a saint, and after spending so many years with George as a flatmate he had gained something of a sadistic sense of humour and a talent for the creative.

He peered in, only mildly surprised to see the staircase leading into a very haphazard space that reminded him a lot of not only Hagrid's hut, but also his own desk at the DMLE, Neville's greenhouse, and George's workshop at the shop. Levitating the requested supplies, Harry descended into the suitcase with a cavalier disregard for the owner's privacy. The room was messy, made of wood, and possessed a kind of familiar and cosy organised chaos that brought a small smirk to the Gryffindor's face as he spotted the oddest of things in weird and wonderful places. Shelves, papers, sketches (Curly was a pretty good artist), bottles, jars, pots, he had potion ingredients here and there, animal care products in assorted stages of nearly empty, and research papers scattered everywhere. Movement caught the edge of his eye and he moved towards a pair of photoframes, the only ones in the little shed.

A beautiful woman with thick black hair peered at him curiously, and there was something familiar enough about her that Harry couldn't help but frown and tilt his head right back at her. Well, it was 1925. Perhaps she was the mother or grandmother of someone he knew, the vague resemblance undoubtedly would tickle at him, but he brushed it off. Not important right now. The other picture was of a small family, he recognised Curly immediately, apparently he had always been cursed with the misfortune of untameable hair, Harry could sympathise. Next to him was a stern faced woman in sensible clothing, knee high black polished boots, white leggings, and a stern white blouse with a black waistcoat, she had one hand resting on the thirteen year old Curly's shoulder, and the other on the shoulder of a seventeen year old young man with similarly coloured hair to Curly but cropped close to his skull. They both had freckles, but the difference between the two was jarring, while Curly seemed happy and a little bashful, his brother (Harry assumed it was his brother), glared at him from the picture as if he had something to prove and every willingness to ensure you never forgot it. Behind them was a _very_ handsome hippogriff stallion. Harry arched an eyebrow at the photograph. It was black and white so he couldn't tell what the brother's house colours were, but he would have pegged him a Slytherin with that facial expression.

"Well aren't you a ray of sunshine," he observed, watching the teenager puff up indignantly before dismissing the pictures entirely. Teenagers didn't interest him so much as exploring this place.

He opened the door, and felt his jaw drop.

Did he say he was impressed earlier? Because right now he had moved well past that into astonished, and then completely _gobsmacked_.

"Hermione eat your heart out," he murmured as he absent-mindedly levitated the supplies onto the wooden floorboards beside him and stepped out into the chaotic _world_ around him. Overheard he could see hundreds of anchored aquatic bubble-charms, each filled with a familiar and unfamiliar exotic creature. He tried not to laugh as he saw a pair of grindylows wrestling with each other as their bubbles bumped and merged. A skittering at his feet had him jumping back reflexively as an African dungbeetle rolled past with a specimen bigger than his head, Harry craned his neck as it took the ball to the otherside of the shed and added it to some kind of compost heap. Just beyond it Harry could see a multitude of neatly sectioned out environments, each enlarged within themselves, with magical creatures in varying stages of convalescence. He couldn't help but gape in wonderment as a swarm of oriental doxies rose up like a pale brown cloud and danced overhead, one of them being snatched clean out of the flock as a bright orange fwooper cut through the air and snapped it up, and then brought itself into a neat little landing on the handle of a shovel sticking out of a little earth mound in a forest themed enclosure.

Harry paced slowly through the enclosures, he spotted the rumoured nundu cub, sleeping deeply in a heavily warded enclosure (the magical saturation around that thing was making his toes itch). He passed one with an icy chill sweeping out of it, a tundra, but no sign of its frosty inhabitants. Whether they were well hidden or the enclosure was empty, Harry couldn't tell as he passed it by to where he could hear the sound of Curly casting spells.

He passed through into a shadowy corner of the suitcase where he could hear the air groaning, and the pressure of it changing as the space inside was altered. Curly had his back to him, his sleeves rolled up as he frantically conducted the streams of magic around him with the delicacy of an artist, he was muttering spells under his breath, juggling ward-stones in one hand as his other wove spells at the tip of his wand, expanding a space within an expanded space.

Harry tilted his head as he realised... Curly was standing straight.

Until now he had always been hunched slightly, looking at him sideways, at everyone sideways with his chin tucked down. Right now he was straight backed, chin lifted. Confident. He had gone from gangly awkward youth to a young man with a very immediate presence, all with just the straightening of his spine. He was a little shorter than Ron was, topping at 6'2" now he was no longer hunching, but strangely broader than his ginger friend, possessing a build somewhere between Charlie and Bill. His hair was a coppery colour of brown with lighter sunbleached strands amongst the dirty unwashed riot of curls he had done absolutely nothing to try taming. High cheekbones, open hazel coloured eyes, thin lips, and a tanned face smattered with pale freckles. His forearms, what little of them could be seen outside of bandages, were just as tanned and freckled, but also scarred. Lined with pale white scar tissue, old and new.

Harry waited in silence, content to watch him work, until he was finished with his preparations. Not wanting to cause the spell weaving to collapse in on itself and potentially destroy the whole suitcase and them along with it. He spoke only when Curly was finished.

"When you mentioned environments – " Harry began, making the Hufflepuff jump near enough out of his skin and whip around with his wand raised, he lifted his hands to show he was unarmed as he entered into the enlarged world, " – in your suitcase I expected to be impressed, but this is astonishing. I doubt even Professor Dumbledore could pull it off, and I've seen him do some crazy shit before," he praised as Curly turned a very fetching shade of pink and shuffled.

"You – shouldn't be in here," he complained.

"I brought the things you wanted, and I didn't touch the enclosures, nor anything in your shed," Harry assured him lazily as he meandered around the large empty space with a nod of approval.

"That doesn't – this is my personal – " the mythozoologist tried to protest again, only to receive a mildly condescending look from the auror.

"And that behaviour right there is why I came down here," he explained, making Curly blink and peer at him. "Dark Wizards often like to keep runespoors, think it makes quite a statement to their underlings and what not. Not only that but they're often exploited to the death. Had to make sure you were as good as your word," he explained as he took another turn around the environment.

Curly spluttered, fumbling a little for lack of anything to actually say, Harry flashed him a grin, "I'm not apologising. This is _brilliant,_ " he praised, smirking a little when the mythozoologist once again went pink.

"I – thank you?" Curly managed to say, sounding absolutely helpless in his confusion.

Harry laughed, "Do you need a hand with the rest of it, or should I clear off and let the expert work?" he asked lightly.

"Some space would be appreciated, please," Curly admitted watching him with all the wariness of one of his creatures.

The Gryffindor rolled his shoulders loosely, "Sure. I left the stuff outside your shed. I'll go talk to the runespoor, come get me when you're done," he said as he sauntered out of the enclosure, boldly turning his back on Curly, his expression shuttering as he did so.

Newt... did not attack him.

He knew when he was being tested. Why though he didn't quite understand, it wasn't as if he would have done so anyway. But the fact that the auror expected him to, was _daring_ him to, was... well it planted the idea, it gave him the desire but he knew a trap when he saw one. So he kept his wand to himself, and let the young man leave, feeling a jittering under his skin even as his hands remained steady on the ash and sandworm shell length.

There was something very _dangerous_ about Auror Peverell. And it made all the hair on Newt's arms stand on end.

 _ **000**_

By the time Curly was finished with the runespoor's environment, Harry had already managed to get her to agree to the relocation, and name her on top of it. No one would get the joke for another near-enough eighty years, but it amused him none the less. Buttercup, Blossom, and Bubbles were carefully manoeuvred into Curly's suitcase and then settled within her environment without incident – though it took a lot of reassurance from Harry when she caught a brief _glimpse_ of the nundu cub and nearly threw a goddamn fit. Which in turn resulted in waking up the cub, so Curly had to go and settle the baby before it hurt itself or gassed his enclosure to death and beyond.

The end result was Buttercup, the red eyed ultra-aggressive head, having a cone transfigured out of a bucket and strapped on to prevent her from biting her siblings, Harry, or anyone else who may have the misfortune of being just a hair too close to her.

Curly was furiously taking notes on their interactions as Harry went about slapping on the scale care cream he had mixed up earlier onto Bubbles, the blue eyed head, and Blossom, the green eyed head. Originally he wanted to make her Buttercup because of the eyecolour, but the attitudes were completely wrong, so in the end he went with personality rather than appearance.

Buttercup wouldn't let him close enough to tend to her, so he used the remainder of the cream to deal with her tail and as much of her body as he could. Without tending to Buttercup he actually managed to get _most_ of her slathered to a degree he was happy with.

Once she had been informed of what was where, Harry watched in amusement as she practically shot towards the basking rock, nosing at it happily and then curling her entire length around it, all three heads letting out long drawn out hisses of pleasure. He couldn't help but laugh.

"What did she say?" Curly asked curiously.

Harry shook his head, "Nothing. But you know that deep sigh when you climb into a hot bath after a hard day? That, just in snake form," he explained with a chuckle as he gestured for the mythozoologist to follow him. "I think she wants to relax a bit, those caves are cold. We should probably go and inform the Namare that their sacred lands are clear and they can start bringing the women down."

"The women?" Curly echoed as Harry casually intruded once again on his shed in order to leave, the copper haired young man looked a little dismayed, but mostly resigned to Harry's lack of manners.

Harry glanced over his shoulder to the Hufflepuff as he began to climb the stairs, "This is their sacred land, every child in the tribe is supposed to be born here so that they can receive the blessings of the land. One of the first people that got eaten was a pregnant woman, that's why the tribe were so upset," he explained seriously as he turned and slid back down the stairs to stand in front of the Hufflepuff, practically chest to chest, practically, because Harry's eyes were perhaps only just about level with his chin. "Which is why we won't be telling them she's still alive, will we?" he asked pointedly.

Newt paused for a moment, digesting that, before he nodded solemnly, "Indeed. But what should we tell them?" he asked, leaning back thoughtfully, mainly to put some space between himself and Auror Peverell. The diminutive man was surprisingly intimidating, especially with those eyes of his. Newt rather felt he was confronting a predator that had not yet decided whether or not to ignore him or kill him, even though he knew the auror would do no such thing, there was an air of tightly leashed violence and _power_ in his tiny frame.

He watched as Auror Peverell actually paused at that, leaf green eyes widening for a heartbeat before he was leaning back against the stairs, arms folding as small fingers cupped his mouth. Newt felt his eyebrow inch up his forehead as the auror went deep into thought.

"Honestly hadn't thought that far," he suddenly announced before pinning Newt in place with a green stare, "Any ideas?" he asked.

The Hufflepuff was tempted to tell him to get out of his suitcase but held it back, they were _trying_ to work together, and for what was perhaps the first time in any of his relationships, or acquaintances with a Gryffindor, his opinion was being asked for, and even valued. Not even his brother afforded him that degree of respect sometimes.

"We could say... we slapped her with a Portkey and sent her to... an abattoir?" he suggested, even though he felt physically _ill_ at the very thought of ever condemning any creature to such a place.

Auror Peverell grimaced in an echo of himself, "That might work," he muttered unhappily before scruffing a hand through his hair, "It'll have to do. Don't say anything about the nundu either. Fairly sure the cub you have here was the one they drove off."

Newt pulled a face, this just got better and better, didn't it? He sighed and brushed the concern to one side. They had more important concerns right now, like selling their story to the... Hamara? Hamare? tribe. Drat, he was awful with names unless the owner made a significant enough impression on him (and Auror Peverell had done exactly that, unfortunately, Newt was fairly certain he would have nightmares of those eyes catching him in the act of some of his more... illegal escapades. There was a very unnerving _knowing_ quality to them).

The two left the suitcase, Auror Peverell transfiguring a few stones into belts that he used to provide a little extra security to Newt's suitcase, not only belting it shut twice over (unnecessary and a little insulting), but also belting it to his backpack (very well, perhaps he wasn't so much belting the suitcase shut as providing something for the other belts to strap to).

Then they returned to the Hamare.

Newt had to admit, he had never seen anything like it. He spent most of his research trips actively avoiding the locals and immersing himself completely in the wilds. So walking into a local tribe camp was... he turned bright red and lifted a hand to block his gaze from the assorted half-naked women flouncing around the collection of huts, their ebony skin adorned with ritual scars that highlighted their breasts, stomachs, shoulders, collars, and faces in dizzying patterns that he recalled also seeing upon several of the paintings in the cavern. One or two even looked like animal patterns, a young woman with what looked like zebra stripes, and another with leopard spots framing her face was all he got a glimpse of before the... lack of attire registered, and like a proper gentleman he averted his gaze.

Auror Peverell didn't bother. He didn't even seem to _notice_ the state of undress.

Newt grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut as he practically cringed behind him, Peverell glanced back at him and nudged him sharply, "Curly, your animals are naked all the time. How is a human tit any different from a cat's?" he asked flatly, making Newt splutter.

"But they're – ladies shouldn't – mother would – "

"Your mother isn't here. And its a different culture. Suck it up and drop your hand. You're being rude!" he added in a low hiss. Newt wanted to laugh, a little hysterically, since when did _he_ care about being rude?! he wanted to demand. Never the less, he was not oblivious to the dirty looks the men were giving them, and quickly dropped his hand. He did however keep his eyes averted and down to the ground as he trailed after Auror Peverell through the village.

He only glanced up when he head Harry speaking to the gentleman in the elaborate sarong that had been accompanying him earlier, beside him was a larger, old man with iron grey hair and a great many decorations. The Village headman, behind him was what Newt could only guess was either his daughter or his wife (he hoped daughter, she looked young). Both of them had ritual scarring, and Newt kept his eyes lowered, but she had the markings even on her feet and toes, and he found himself mentally cataloguing them. They were familiar patterns, stylised as they were. Snake. Puff adder if he wasn't mistaken, and he didn't think he was.

He shifted uncomfortably when exclamations went out amongst the people and Auror Peverell tensed beside him, the headman announced something in a booming voice, and the Gryffindor sighed.

"They're going to throw a party as thanks. You and I are expected to stick around till dawn," the young man told him in an undertone, Newt grimaced a little and felt himself get nudged a little, "I would have recommended staying the night anyway. It's getting late as it is, and this way we get free food, and somewhere safe to sleep for the night. Might even be able to get some supplies from them before leaving in the morning," he explained softly as the headman shouted something else, and several of the women responded. Song went up amongst the people and the young man in the elaborate sarong gestured them to one of the huts where a heavily pregnant woman was smiling as she received them.

 _ **000**_

It felt like Dudley was sat on his head.

Harry would have groaned if he could, but it wasn't _just_ his head suffering from the night before, his body was as well. He felt like one big bruise, littered with smaller, angrier bruises still protesting their existence by _hurting_ more than everything else. He hadn't felt this bad since the morning after his graduation from auror training when their whole class went out drinking; George had taken unholy _glee_ in tormenting him for the rest of the day, making sure all of his experiments had high-pitched explosions and the like. Harry ended up trying to hide at the Burrow and instead was treated to a repeat of the lecture Mrs Weasley gave Ron, and thus the two of them ended up hiding in Luna's tent, thoroughly miserable, but in good company because it seemed that Neville had the same idea to avoid his grandmother's wrath. Luna thought it was adorable, and made them terrible tasting tea, but she was quiet, and kept the curtains closed. They could forgive a lot for that.

This though, was nothing so kind.

He didn't dare open his eyes.

It took a while, his brain felt like soup, but he eventually scraped together the processing power to identify that he was lying on rough dirty stone. Not alter stone, he'd had enough unfortunate incidents to know what that felt like, no, this was regular, rough, stone that could be found on mountains, cliffs, and generally inhospitable locations the world over. It was dirty, but dry. There was no slimy lichen or damp moss, and it felt a little dusty, or was it silty, under his fingertips. The sun was hot on his shoulder, and leg, uncomfortable and actually burning. His skin felt tight and leathery. He'd been out there a while.

He was also naked.

He also had company he realised as he felt the heavy warm weight against his back shift, and groan. But in the end, all they did was burrow a little closer, hiding their face against the back of his neck, tighten their grip around his waist, and curl themselves a little more firmly around him. Harry cringed, gritting his teeth against the flash of pain that sent shooting up his legs and back.

He managed to inch a hand up to shield his face, and attempted to crack an eye open, under the gloom of his hand, it only made his head _throb_ instead of feel like Hagrid was using a pickaxe on his skull. It took a further ten minutes before he could actually open his eyes fully instead of squint under his palm like the most pathetic of drunkards.

Still in Africa at least.

He could see the village in the distance, there was a large plume of smoke rising from the huge bonfire in the centre of the village, Harry didn't actually remember _anything_ of last night. Well, not enough of last night. He got... flashes. Talking to Ndenawi, Fancy Skirt, and his wife Obu who was expecting their first son telling him they would be celebrating as though it were midsummer. He remembered... the headman's daughter, Asha, handing him a bowl of something fragrant that smelled a little like wine. Had he only had the one bowl? He couldn't remember, he had a good alcohol tolerance so he must have. He remembered... the dancing. Everyone in the tribe had gotten up to dance save for the couples, the children, and the elderly. Both he and Curly had been pulled into the frenzy beside the bonfire, and he... the world began to swim. Asha... her markings, it was like she suddenly...

Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

There must have been something wrong with that wine because he had started to hallucinate. He could remember that much. Asha suddenly had the face of a snake, gentler, and kinder than Voldemort, but there was a cold ruthless cunning to her that immediately had him staggering away from her with a noise of dismay.

Then Curly. He snarled at him. Harry remembered that. Curly snarled at him, a sound entirely inhuman, and Harry roared back, more animal than person and -

Flashes of landscape in darkness. The moon melting across the sky.

Don't stop. Can't stop. Have to run.

Don't let them catch you. Not yet. Have to prove they're worth it. They have to _earn_ it.

He remembered... the cavern, the mountain, climbing it. Bare hands and feet, pale and flashing in the darkness (where had his clothes gone? Why was he bare foot? Who was chasing him?).

The rocks, they broke under his hand, he fell.

Flashes of pain up his left flank, he scraped his thigh bloody, his lungs were burning.

And then he was caught.

Teeth, and claws. Pale skin. He gave as good as he got but... he gave in at the end, and now...

Something had settled deep within his skin, a good something, but it was new and uncertain. He felt... he couldn't tell, he was still sick to his stomach and aching like a bitch.

"Where are we?" the person behind him asked, voice rough with the same degree of hangover Harry was suffering. But it's said in English, and male, and there was only one person within fifty miles who actually spoke the language outside of him, and Harry felt a little bit of dismay as the Hufflepuff shifted against him again, their skin sticking and peeling apart only to stick together anew in that way that only sweaty flesh can.

"Still Africa," Harry croaked in return, and they went still once again.

They could hear the calls of the wildlife around them, and the faint stirring of a breeze across his skin brought relief from the burning sun (Harry was going to have one hell of a sunburn and he wasn't looking forward to it).

"Do you remember what happened?" Curly croaked against his neck, and Harry can feel his thumb on his collarbone, and it's hard to tell where exactly he ends and the mythozoologist begins in their current state. He's fairly certain they're still a little drugged from the effects of last night, which is the only explanation for why Harry hadn't yet thrown him _off_ this cliff for not getting the hell away from him (strangers did not get to cuddle. Did not get to touch. They got the business end of his wand if they even tried to shake his hand these days. Harry learned from his mistakes).

"Not clearly. Started hallucinating," he rasped, breathing deep with his eyes shut. It hit him then that there was a great deal of running last night, and he stressed to the Hufflepuff that he couldn't undergo any strenuous activities. "Your lungs," he croaked, trying to muster the strength to move, he felt Curly's hand press flat against his chest and then shift when his fingertips find the edge of the locket's brand just beneath the hollow of his collarbones.

"They're aching, and there's a sharp pain on the left side, but it's fading. My legs hurt more," he rasped dutifully, and Harry can't stop himself from shivering a little when he feels the cold tip of his nose between his shoulderblades, and his fingertips gently tracing the scar at his neck.

There was a moment of tense silence before Harry felt the weight against his back move.

"Are those _bite marks_?" the Hufflepuff croaked in something that sounded like hysterical terror, "Sweet Merlin, you're covered in them!"

That would explain why there were specific points of discomfort on top of the general overall ache.

He felt Curly try to untangle himself, and grunted in a mixture of discomfort and surprise as he managed to unstick himself and pull away, making repeated noises of distress as he jostled him in the process. Harry couldn't muster the energy to move from where he had been curled up on the rock, nursing whatever it is that was wrong with him. He must have been more susceptible to it than Curly who seemed pretty lively for someone who had drunk the same shit. That or they gave him more of the stuff for whatever reason.

"Oh my god, I – I'm so sorry Auror Peverell! I think – I think I did this!" the mythozoologist rasped, hands fluttering over Harry's skin, "What have I done? I – I can't believe this. I – no, this isn't – I would never – not in my right mind, I – "

Harry can guess what happened.

He's hung over, covered in bitemarks, and woke up buck naked with another guy. Not the first time its happened, though he typically liked to know their names first.

"I think we can dispense with the formalities, Curly," he croaked as he struggled to get his hands under him, "Call me Harry," he requested as he felt the Hufflepuff move to help him up. He squinted at the copper haired young man and snorted, "And it isn't like I left you unscathed either," he pointed out blandly. They were _both_ covered in bitemarks and scratches.

The zoologist gave him a look of dismay, pain, guilt, self-loathing, and about a hundred other things Harry is too hungover to identify, "Why aren't you – surely you're – I _forced_ myself on – I tackled you like an _animal_ ," he stressed, sounding close to tears, enough so that Harry felt like an asshole.

The Gryffindor grimaced as he shifted an arm, managing to drop it over the Hufflepuff's shoulder in some approximation of a hug, "Hey. It's fine," he attempted to reassure, tilting his head so he can look the zoologist firmly in his hazel coloured eyes, vivid leaf green meeting brown-olive green as he threaded clumsy fingers into dirty copper strands. "I remember enough bits and pieces of last night, I think _everyone_ went a little animal. And..." he frowned a little, looking down, "I think I _meant_ to get caught. But you had to earn it first. It's a little foggy. But I definitely remember that I made a choice. So don't worry your curly little head over it, Puff. I've woken up in stranger places, with worse company," he explained gently, tightening his grip on the zoologist's hair, giving him a little shake before letting go.

He still looked distressed, but not as much as before. "I still – it isn't right," he objected miserably. Their voices were still rough, but speaking was coming easier now, it didn't hurt so much, though a drink of water would be amazing right now.

"Damn right it isn't, and I think we should go back and have a word with that headman. But if it'll make you feel better we can do a repeat performance _later_ , when we're both sober and not feeling so awful," Harry offered with a deep sigh.

The Hufflepuff choked in disbelief, and Harry slowly used him as leverage to get back to his feet, feeling as shaky as a newborn calf as he had to practically stand with his knees locked together, feet apart, using Curly's shoulder as a crutch in both hands. The Hufflepuff quickly reached out to help steady him, and made a sound like a dying doxy when he saw the precise imprint of his own teeth around Harry's right nipple. Harry patted him sympathetically on the head.

It was going to be a long walk back to the village.

 _ **000**_

The walk back was made considerably easier by the fact that Harry kept his wands strapped to him at all times with very specific methods of removal that he couldn't manage while intoxicated, or even spelled. Harry transfigured clothing for them as they slowly staggered down the cliff-face leaning heavily on one another, or more Harry leaning against Curly heavily as he was still feeling the effects of the _whatever_ it was they drank last night. Their feet were practically shredded from their mad race across the wilderness, on top of Harry's thigh looking like someone took a cheese grater to it, the best that the Gryffindor could do was use a scouring charm, and conjure some bandages for them to wrap around the now clean wounds before transfiguring shoes and socks to accompany their boxers, trousers, and shirts.

Curly was a little confused at first by the T-shirt, but he copied Harry in slipping it on over his head, picking curiously at the front of it, and its complete lack of buttons. He was also incapable of looking at Harry without flushing bright red, eyes lingering at the bruises that patterned his neck, and arms (he seemed to be particularly horrified by those ones, possibly because they were in the shape of his own hands, no matter how much Harry told him that he bruised easily, he would just shake his head and look away with something on his face that bordered on self-loathing and disgust. Harry sincerely hoped he hadn't found a homophobic wizard, he had yet to encounter even the one, but this was 1925, he could be muggleborn).

They staggered into the village, Harry's face like thunder, and the people quickly scurried out of the way. The headman had a look on his face as he observed them, and Ndenawi quickly hurried over, looking nervous.

" _Why don't you gentlemen explain what the fuck it was that happened last night, before I go and find the biggest fucking snake I can and drop it on you?_ " Harry seethed, glaring the headman dead in the eye as his son nervously translated. Behind him, Asha, his daughter, skittered deeper into his shadow, clasping something in her hands to her chest.

Ndenawi listened to his father with a pained expression, and then his sister slipped out from the headman's shadow, meekly presenting him with two bracelets made of coloured green, blue, and white beads.

" _My father..._ " Ndenawi began, swallowing hard before forcing himself onwards, " _Wants to offer you his congratulations on your bonding, and wishes you luck for the future with your husband. He is sorry, that you were not able to find a home amongst us._ "

Harry stared at the bracelets in Asha's hands, how she peered tearfully up at him, only to look down at her feet once more. When Harry didn't accept them, she presented them to Curly, practically shoving them into his chest before fleeing away from them in tears.

Harry turned to Ndenawi, " _Is that that happened last night?_ " he demanded, " _You, what, tried to trick me into bonding with your sister? For what purpose?!_ "

Ndenawi shifted, " _You are a snake speaker, and a powerful magician. Asha's inner beast is a serpent. Father wished for you to stay, and continue to protect our people. The ceremony last night was to match your inner beast with another, it is the best way to find a life-partner._ "

Harry stared at him, " _You tricked us into partaking in a magically binding marriage ceremony based on our inner animals. Do I have that correct?_ "

The headman's son nodded, ignoring his father as he tried to interject on the conversation.

" _How do I break the bond?_ " the Gryffindor demanded slowly.

Ndenawi shook his head, " _Night of the Hunter is... soul deep. It cannot be done._ "

The Gryffindor grit his teeth in disgust, he slapped the bracelets out of Curly's hands, grabbed his wrist, and stormed away, summoning their belongings with a harsh jab of his wand as he did so; ignoring the headman calling to them. Curly kept pace with him as he marched them well clear of the village, and then line of sight apparated to the otherside of the plain.

"What..." Curly began to ask once they were what Harry deemed a good enough distance.

"Magically binding marriage ceremony," the Gryffindor announced, turning to face him with a helpless expression of utter _fury_ on his face, "My fault. They wanted me to stay so they tried to trick me into marrying the headman's daughter. Apparently her animagus form is a snake. They thought we would have been compatible."

Curly's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, "But I – I don't have an animagus form!" he protested.

Harry scoffed, "And I haven't achieved mine yet either. It must have chosen something- " he paused then and leaned back, hand over his eyes. "Curly, before we started drinking... what was the last creature you actually touched?"

Hazel eyes went wide, "The... nundu cub."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and nodded slowly, "My animagus form is a big cat."

Curly made a pained noise in the back of his throat. Apparently in the absence of an animagus form, the ritual would latch onto the most recent animal essence that individual had been in contact with. And Curly's nundu apparently liked Harry's cat.

"My mother is going to kill me," Curly whimpered.

 _ **0000**_

 **(lols forever)**


	5. Chapter 5

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Five**

His mother was going to kill him, his brother would kill him, his father would rise from the _grave_ and kill him.

His grandmother would wait for him to die and deal with them at her own leisure where he couldn't escape her.

Newt was fairly sure he was nearly catatonic as he tried to wrap his brain around the fact he had gotten _married_ , magically _bound_ to a nosy auror whose parents he hadn't met, nor requested the pleasure of courting their son, who had not formally been introduced to either himself, or his mother, who had not made his _own_ requests to pay him court, a young man he knew next to _nothing_ about, had neither exchanged gifts, nor chaperoned events, whom he had not known for _longer than a whole day_ – he was getting hysterical.

Auror Peverell was watching him curiously, waving a hand in front of his face.

Had Newt even given him his name? He couldn't remember actually giving his _husband his name!_ _Did his husband know who he was?_

"Uh, Curly, you might want to actually breathe sometime soon."

Before now there had been an _understanding_ between them and the Lestranges about his future relationship with Leta, and then that awful incident in their final year, his suspension from Hogwarts, how he had to finish his final year exams at home, away from his classmates, barred from the school itself. The furious temper his brother flew into when he _finally_ managed to coax the story out of Newt, his side of the story, not the sugar coated lies that Leta had fed the Headmaster, that Professor Dumbledore hadn't believed, that had nearly seen him expelled. The _understanding_ became a promise to blood feud if the snake that had once been his future intended ever presented herself to him, or his family, ever again. And from then, his mother had been very discreet, but very firm in finding another girl of _better_ character for him. She had been very understanding, promising to leave any decisions in his hands once he returned, that she would put her wife hunt on hold until he returned. He knew she wouldn't. But that was something to be concerned with when it occurred.

And now he was married to a man he didn't know, in an African Animagus marriage ceremony.

"Is being married to a man such a problem?" Auror Peverell asked blandly, watching him with his arms folded. Had Newt been ranting out loud again? "Yes."

"I – I'm sorry," he wheezed.

Auror Peverell rolled his eyes, "Take a deep breath," he ordered, and Newt did so. Immediately feeling the ache in his chest lessen as he did. "Now, do you really have a problem with being married to a man?" he repeated flatly.

Newt shook his head, "No, no, it's – I don't know you! And – my mother – we need to go back to England," he said apologetically, "I have to introduce you to my mother, she's going to skin me alive, we've done this all backwards, I need to present myself to your parents and - "

"Parents are dead. And I am not going back to England," Auror Peverell declared bluntly, immediately taking the wind out of Newt's sails because...

"Oh. I'm – I'm so sorry for your loss," he apologised, grimacing a little.

The Gryffindor shrugged a shoulder, "No big deal. Never knew them. Killed when I was a baby. But seriously, I'm not going back so you can calm down about your mother, she doesn't have to know if you don't want to," he said as he began to rummage in his pockets for something.

Newt spluttered a little, "B-but your _job_ – " he realised then that Auror Peverell had likely worked with his brother before, and he knew that Theseus was a stickler for propriety despite his laid back nature. No doubt he and Peverell had butted heads often regarding the younger Gryffindor's cavalier behaviour, or his adjustments of auror property. " – I'm sure my brother won't cause you too much trouble, I'll talk to him," he offered kindly. It was _hardly_ Auror Peverell's fault they were in this situation.

"Pretty sure I don't know, or care, who your brother is," the Gryffindor told him flatly, "As much as I appreciate the offer, don't worry about it. I'm not going back. The job can cram it as far as I care. Whole department's corrupt anyway," he complained grumpily, and Newt tried not to take it personally because he'd heard his own brother's complaints on the matter as well. Offer someone a bottle of firewhiskey and they would look the other way on a lot more than just paperwork.

"May I at least know _why_ you're so opposed to going back?" Newt asked plaintively, it was starting to get a little worrying now.

Auror Peverell gave him a look that was one part sad and another condescending, "You're a smart cookie, Curly. Think. A Parselmouth, Gryffindor or not, working in the Ministry's Auror Department with the current hysteria. Do you _really_ think I can go back?" he asked pointedly, arching an eyebrow at him before he successfully liberated a hipflask from his auror pouch. "I am steering _clear_ of England and Europe until this Grindelwald mess is sorted. _Bad enough he was ferreting around the graveyard, it'd be bad if he knew I even existed._ " It was said quietly, so quietly that clearly Newt wasn't supposed to hear it, but he did, and felt a quiet chill in his bones as the young man took a deep swig from his hipflask before offering it to him.

He accepted the little silver flask, taking a moment to appreciate the elegant stag wrought onto the silver, it looked remarkably like the patronus he used earlier, accompanying it was a jack russell terrier, and a river otter. He wondered who they represented as he took a hit, the taste of spiced dark rum filling his mouth in a pleasant surprise (he had been expected whiskey and dreaded the taste however much he needed the alcohol right now).

He wet his lips, the taste of the rum smooth on his tongue as he stared down at the flask. Well, it wasn't like – he couldn't just _leave_ Auror Peverell. They were _married_ now, whether they knew it at the time or not, whether they consented to it or not, it still meant something. He sighed, his mother was going to skin him alive but... if he explained, she might not be so upset? He could write her a letter explaining what happened... Actually no, best to write his _brother_. Theseus would be able to think up something to say to her that would save his hide.

"You can travel with me then," he decided, handing the flask back, watching as green-green eyes blinked at him in surprise, and all at once he felt a squeeze of anger. Auror Peverell thought he would just _leave_ him in the middle of Africa? Just what had happened to him to make the very concept of solidarity so foreign?

"It occurs to me, I haven't yet introduced myself," he added before the Gryffindor could open his mouth to object. Tough luck. He was married to a Hufflepuff now, and they took loyalty very seriously. "Newton Scamander, call me Newt," he said, sticking a hand out to shake.

Auror Peverell took it out of reflex, and Newt was quick to reverse his grip and try to drop a kiss onto his knuckles – the Gryffindor jerked his hand back before he could actually make contact though.

"Look, Newt, this is a messed up situation but seriously, it's my fault. Don't worry about it," Auror Peverell assured him, taking an entire physical step backwards. He then paused, frowning, "Wait, Newt? Newt _Scamander_?" he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief and growing horror.

The Hufflepuff nodded, and watched in mild concern as all the blood drained from the auror's face.

 _ **000**_

This...

 _Mother fucker_.

Or would it be Grandpa fucker?

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He should have known. He should have _fucking realised!_

He just banged the grandfather of Luna's husband. The great-grandfather of his Godsons.

Holy shit he just married his bestfriend's grandfather-in-law.

He _danced_ with this guy at Luna's _wedding_! Spent several hours discussing thestrals, acromantula, and dementors with him while his wife sat next to them looking amused as she steadily went through two bottles of wine before her husband's older brother rescued her and then dragged her up onto the dance floor. Harry remembered that self-same brother flirting terribly with him while his younger brother looked on in great pain complaining about how Harry was the same age as Rolf, and _oh god keep it in your pants Thee!_ He ended up making _friends_ with the man's wife, discussing auror tactics and methods at Rolf's next birthday party!

He left England to _avoid_ fucking history up!

Instead he just ended up fucking the history!

"I'm so dead," he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. This was just his luck.

He laughed a little before dropping his hands and looking up, _Newton fucking Scamander_ watching him in concern (well, at least Harry knew he would be eight different levels of silver fox when he got older, he'd seen it, no wonder Tina was all over him after her third bottle of wine), "Okay. Whatever, there's a special circle in hell reserved for me anyway," he admitted, brushing the issue aside. Not much he could actually _do_ about it, beyond making sure to clear off as soon as possible.

"I doubt Theseus would kill you," the Hufflepuff attempted to reassure him.

Oh yeah. Theseus Scamander was some kind of war-hero auror at this point in time.

"Yeah, he's not my biggest concern right now." Your future granddaughter-in-law is because she'll fucking kick my ass. And then get Hermione to help her. And Ginny would never pass an opportunity to throw a few prank spells his way. They may have broken up amiably, but she seemed to have then filed him in the same category as George, and that meant _fair game_. "Look, neither of us know each other, and I'm pretty sure neither of us particularly want this. So, let's just pretend it never happened, alright? We go our separate ways, and just put this whole incident down as some weird kind of drug-induced hallucination."

"Is it really such a horrible prospect to be married to someone like me?" the mythozoologist asked, sounding defeated as he slumped down once again.

Harry opened his mouth, blinked, closed it, shook his head, and stared at him in confusion. Successfully derailed completely. What.

"Uh, no? No, seriously, aren't you pissed off?" the Gryffindor demanded in abject confusion. "I mean, this is kind of just typically my luck, I've managed to avoid anything like this before now, but it was bound to catch up somewhen, but shouldn't you be a little more pissed off? I mean, I'm a complete stranger, and an asshole to boot."

Newt twitched a crooked smile at him from under the unwashed mop he called his hair, "You're not that bad," he refuted.

"No, I really am," Harry disagreed before running a hand through his hair. "You realise, we can't do this, right? It is an _exceptionally_ bad idea."

"Most of my ideas can be considered quite bad," the mythozoologist admitted without an ounce of shame, in fact he seemed quite proud of that fact.

His heart skipped a beat, and Harry leaned back a little, a slow burn beginning to crawl up his neck to his cheeks. There was a glint of mischief and amusement in those eyes, and all of a sudden for the first time in EVER, Harry was feeling _very_ uncomfortable, and slightly hunted. He could feel himself flushing even as he quickly turned away to avoid eye contact.

"I doubt they can get this bad though," he argued, folding his arms as he glared at a tree to one side, swallowing the sudden appearance of a hard lump in his throat. Bad idea indeed.

"I think I'll be the judge of that," the mythozoologist decided lightly, sounding very pleased with himself as Harry found an arm suddenly around his shoulders, pulling him along with the Hufflepuff as he started walking.

"I think I can _already_ be a judge of that," the auror objected, stumbling as he found himself hauled along, but not really trying very hard to wrestle himself free. He sighed deeply, and casually picked the Hufflepuff's arm off him, "Alright, alright. I'll come with you, just... don't get any ideas," he pleaded tiredly, scruffing a hand through his hair as he fell into step beside the taller man.

Newt flashed him an innocent smile, and for some reason, Harry felt a clench of apprehension deep within his gut.

 _ **000**_

Newt wasn't really the type to jump into things, that was most definitely his brother's style (no matter what Theseus might say on the matter about Newt's sudden, and illegal, decision to join the army as a teenager). He thought a lot as he and Auror Peverell walked through the savannah, the Gryffindor at his elbow watching the world pass them by with a kind of wide-eyed wonder and fascination that made it quite obvious he had never left England before in his life.

He wondered what else the Gryffindor had missed in his life, because there were little hints throughout his every interaction with him that painted a very unhappy image and it made Newt's fingers _itchy_ with the need to try and make everything better. Made a hard lump of sympathy lodge itself in the back of his neck as he tried to act like he was just as unaffected by it as the auror it had happened to.

His parents had been killed, they hadn't just died, they were killed. When he was too young to remember them. He gained his Parselmouth abilities as a child in a 'magical accident', an incident spoken with such revulsion that it left Newt with the very distinct impression that it had been _no_ accident. And then he was forced to live with 'abusive muggles', and yet he spoke of them with the same degree of interest as a door, or a shoe, as if their treatment of him was nothing to be concerned or even cared for. He seemed to be utterly resigned to being unable to return to England, to the very idea that his colleagues, his fellow aurors would turn on him the second they learned of his Parselmouth abilities. He had a concussion. And chose to hide in Africa rather than risk going to his own home, or any one he knew from Hogwarts. He crawled under a rock in _Africa_.

Someone had hurt him. Hurt him deeply and badly enough that he no longer felt it worth his effort to even be surprised if he was hurt again, if he was betrayed.

The two had broken for camp as the sun began to set, finding a small copse of trees that Auror Peverell immediately began to ward with such a _plethora_ of spells that Newt didn't even know the vast majority of them, and he had paid special attention to the warders on the front lines in case the spells came in handy. He used transfiguration to create an overhead tarp, a pair of hammocks complete with mosquito and bug nets that knotted beneath them, and a hook for Newt's pack.

The Hufflepuff thought long and hard as he fed the creatures in his case, grooming the fwoopers free of parasites, they were being kept in horrific conditions before he rescued them, plucked for their feathers, he had gotten to them before their latest harvesting, and was carefully dealing with their insect infestation.

They were married now.

And yes, Newt hadn't courted him properly at all, and his mother was going to be _livid_ with him for being so improper. But, she would also be happy that he was married. His brother would find the whole situation absolutely _hilarious_ once he got over his initial over-protective fury at Auror Peverell for daring to lay a finger on his baby brother (Newt didn't think he had the stomach to tell his brother that _he_ was the one who practically _attacked_ one of his colleagues).

When his mother began speaking of marriage after his fifteenth birthday, there was only really the one name on the list, and she had been _so_ happy for him that his future marriage would be one that he not only chose himself, but one that came about out of honest affection for one another.

Apparently that wasn't the case.

She'd thrown him under the hippogriff to save herself, and that was the final straw for him, he hadn't realised just how _miserable_ he had been with her until then, until his suspension, until the ache of hurt faded and it felt like _freedom_ and suddenly it felt like he had done something wrong again. Like it was his fault all over again.

But this? Now?

Auror Peverell didn't make him feel like this was a mistake.

It was. But it didn't feel like one.

They were married, it had been accepted by magic, even if it hadn't been accepted by them.

That meant something.

But could he trust the Gryffindor after what happened between him and a girl he had called his bestfriend for seven years, a girl whom he had an understanding with?

He scratched his head as the Mooncalves clustered around him, wooping and chirruping for food, soothing his nerves as he watched them bobbing around to catch the floating pellets he threw for them.

It wasn't like he had a choice, really.

They were married, and thus stuck with each other, despite what Auror Peverell seemed to think.

Newt was a Hufflepuff, and that meant loyalty down to the bone. He was just going to have to make the best of the situation.

He rubbed his chin with one hand as one of the younger mooncalves crooned and burrowed itself under his free arm, demanding affection.

Still, did he even want to? Until that morning he wasn't even entirely sure he even _liked_ Auror Peverell. He was rude, absolutely careless, no manners or respect what so ever, he was foul mouthed, intense, and a little frightening on top of everything else.

But he was also kind, Newt had seen that, the way he behaved towards the infant runespoor proved it, not to mention the fact that he had _saved_ Newt without knowing his name, who he was, and for no reason other than he had needed it (did that mean Newt owed him a life debt as well? How did that even work now that they were married?). He was smart, frighteningly intelligent and imaginative and creative. He was... frightfully competent, and no-nonsense.

And he seemed to think he wasn't worth any kind of positive regard.

Well, Newt huffed angrily, that could quite _easily_ be traced back to his abusive upbringing. That he was raised by muggles probably meant he didn't know or understand the ramifications behind the fact that magic itself married them through that ritual.

Ah, but... it was an animagus ceremony. Newt didn't _have_ an animagus form (his greatest regret in life), it just took the essence of the last creature he had contact with, the nundu cub, and matched it to whatever feline it was that Auror Peverell had as an unrealised animagus form. It explained why Newt had been so aggressive towards him, no matter what kind of feline Auror Peverell was, it couldn't exactly stand up to the apex predator that a nundu was. It matched Auror Peverell with a Nundu (Merlin that was a frightening thing to think about, that the Gryffindor was on par with _that_ ). And Newt didn't think he was _anything_ like a Nundu.

Had magic made a mistake with their union?

He scrubbed both hands through his hair in frustration, no, that couldn't be right! The ritual would have failed completely if they had been incompatible. They would have woken up alone, or Newt would have _killed_ Auror Peverell while lost in the nundu's instincts.

He took a deep breath as he stared down at his palms, leaning back to sit on the mossy rocks he had placed into the mooncalf enclosure as the docile herbivores crooned happily around him, still bobbing and chirruping as they gobbled their food pellets out of the air.

That magic had ignored the fact that Newt didn't have an animagus form, and still pressed through with the union via the loop-hole the nundu's essence provided... He was no expert on magical theory, but all pureblood children heard the same assortment of stories. Magic thought they would be good together, so she made it happen.

Problem was, Auror Peverell didn't know that.

Newt sighed deeply as he finished feeding the creatures and made his way out of the suitcase, collecting his journal as he did so, and paused as he surfaced from the suitcase, caught flatfooted as he saw the object of his thoughts sat watching the sunset, dyed in gold, red, and orange as a faint wind lifted his wild hair from his face. He quickly closed his mouth and shook his head, flushing darkly as he scampered out of the suitcase and began to make a start on food.

It would be hard work getting Harry to open up to him completely, to make a proper go of this, but what Hufflepuff ever balked away from hard work? __He smiled a little to himself as he peeked up at the Gryffindor still watching the sunset, it would be nice to have some company.

And it didn't hurt that he was very nice to look at.

 _ **0000**_

 **Newt has made his decision regarding just how he's going to handle this latest WTF moment of his life. Harry is still very much of the opinion that this is a very bad idea. Should be fun watching the fall out of a sneaky Puff attempting to woo a cunning Gryffindor.**

 **Also, just to warn you guys, I start work again tomorrow. This will likely be the end of the daily updates. Sorry, but I work two jobs, most of my day is occupied leaving very little time for writing or art. To my dismay and upset.**


	6. Chapter 6

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Six**

Over the next few days, the two wizards fell into an easy kind of rhythm. One in which Harry's new... _acquaintance_ introduced him to what would have been a headache-inducing amount of magical animals had he still been an Auror. Harry couldn't even begin to mentally tally the number of laws Newt Scamander would have to have broken, magical _and_ muggle, to get his hands on some of those creatures.

Instead of getting worked up about it, he decided he was going to have to replenish his stock of rum sometime soon, he was going to run out at the rate Newt kept springing those surprises on him. The man really hadn't been joking when he said he'd said that most of his ideas could be considered bad. There was an adventure behind almost every creature in that suitcase, and none of them started out very happy Harry noticed.

Outside of the suitcase, they trailed after whatever creature tracks Mister Scamander ("Please, call me Newt?" he asked, complete with big hazel green eyes, and puppy-like head tilt) found and got excited over, Harry would capture or forage their dinner as they moved with Newt only having to tell him what was edible and what wasn't only the once (he needn't, Harry _had_ memorised a lot of books on edible plants and foraging _just in case_ ). When they broke camp, Harry would ward the area while Newt set up their hammocks, and then Harry would get to work on feeding them while the mythozoologist would descend into his suitcase to make sure his creatures were fed. Then, while they ate around a modest campfire, the Hufflepuff would chatter, trying to draw Harry into conversation, eyes dyed gold in fire-light as the Gryffindor huddled into his heavy auror robe in the evening chill and tried to ignore him.

That was the theme over the four days since their accidental marriage, and Harry would give Mister Scamander this, _he was annoyingly persistent_.

He was beginning to be worn down in a way that the three week torture resistance course during his auror training had never quite managed to do. He was tired, frazzled, and high-strung like he was once again hiding in the Black Forest with a horcrux around his neck and a madman on his heels, and it was all the fault of a puppy-eyed Hufflepuff who didn't quite realise that Harry was never supposed to stumble into his life, and completely _fucking ruin it_.

Radiating complete disinterest had _not_ been working, Harry was going to have to up his game, somehow. Because religiously keeping his physical distance, and only ever referring to the mythozoologist by his family name was apparently not good enough. Harry was going to have to lie to him, it was the only avenue he could think of outside actually harming one of the creatures in front of him, and Harry wasn't even going to entertain that kind of thought.

What to say though?

He was engaged to be married to someone else? He was widowed? Already married? Secretly working for Grindelwald?

He scoffed. Yeah, that one wasn't going to work, and he would sooner chew out his own kidneys than insinuate it.

Harry sighed as he sat down, wrapped in his auror robes, at least the surroundings were beautiful. The sunsets in Africa were possibly the most _amazing_ he had ever seen before in his life, he could quite happily spend the rest of his life here just for the chance to keep watching it every day. Drawing his knees up, and folding his arms over them, he wondered if he would have ever gone travelling with his parents, or if things between him and Ginny had worked out if they would have gone on holiday to other countries. If he hadn't been so _eager_ to jump back into a fight, to join the aurors like everyone expected him to, could he have travelled the world and seen all this himself, on his own terms? He rested his chin on his knees as he watched the sky slowly turn from gold to amber, the horizon wavering like reflections on water.

What could his life had been like if he were born into a different era?

"What made you decide to be an auror?" Mister Scamander asked curiously as with a few flicks of his wand, their customary campfire lit itself, and a BBQ spit set itself up above it.

Harry shrugged a shoulder listlessly, watching the sunset, "Didn't really have a choice," he admitted softly, tired, _so_ tired, homesick, and a little sad. He wanted Hermione. He wanted his bestfriend, and his surrogate mother. He wanted Ginny to punch his arm hard enough to leave a bruise and challenge him to a quidditch match that would devolve into an airborne riot as the rest of the family got involved. He wanted Ron at his back, Luna at his elbow mistily commenting on heliopaths while Rolf tried to figure out which creature she could possibly be referring to, he wanted his rinky dink little bedroom above the Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. He wanted to cuddle Teddy, eight years old, growing like a weed, so bright and happy, curious and getting into mischief every time he turned his back, driving his Grandmother up the wall.

But he was never going to see any of that again, and it was only just now beginning to sink in that everything he had been fighting for, the people he had fought for, to protect... were gone.

He swallowed hard as a thick knot lodged itself in his throat, like a raw red organ, he had to swallow back down as he buried his face in his knees. He did not want Scamander to realise he was feeling homesick and try to comfort him, he wasn't sure if he would have the presence of mind to refuse in his current state. God, Molly and Hermione had made him so goddamn _needy_.

A scream tore the air.

A long, drawn out, terrible _screech_ that descended into garbled violent gibberish.

Harry practically launched himself out of his skin, clean over the fire, wands in hand as he skidded in front of the mythozoologist, shield charm on his lips as he looked desperately for the threat that had gotten _so_ close behind him -

nothing.

The horrific noise carried on, but there was nothing there.

He jumped again as he felt Mister Scamander grab his shoulder, "It sounds like a Jobberknoll!" the Hufflepuff shouted over the noise.

Harry shook his head, not tearing his eyes away from the surroundings, "This is Africa! They're not native to the area!" he shouted back.

"No, they're not! There must be poachers near-by!" he called before giving Harry's arm a squeeze and pointing.

The tree he had been sat under, there was a tiny blue speckled bird, horribly plucked, bald patches of flesh livid red and smeared with blood, one eye dangling wetly from a socket as its head tilted to the sky, beak spread open as its body puffed into a ball like shape. Regurgitating every sound it had ever heard in its short, likely brutal, life backwards. Definitely a jobberknoll, and one that had been horrifically treated.

"We would have noticed if there were poachers in the area!" Harry refuted, it wasn't like criminals were very discreet with such things in wild locations. They left their crap lying around everywhere, whenever they were looking for illegals hiding in fields and forests, the first thing they looked for was discarded trash, excrement, and vandalism.

"Magical poachers tend to keep their camps hidden!"

And of course, it being Africa, they would be _professionals_. Ingredient harvesters for black market potion auctions, fucking wonderfu-

His eyes caught the outline of a human shape in the darkness.

The inhuman snarl that tore from his throat had the mythozoologist releasing him out of reflex a split second before Harry lunged for the figure.

He ploughed into the young man with all the force of a train, tackling him into the dirt, sending the two of them into a roll that ended with the young man on his stomach, Harry crouched over his back, the Gryffindor's knee planted between his shoulderblades, and the youth's wrists cuffed behind his back, Harry's wand trailing _very_ threatening lights down an ebony coloured cheek.

The scream cut off sharply.

" _Let me go! You're making a big mistake!_ " Bantu. A dialect he wasn't one-hundred percent knowledgeable on, but it was close enough to one he _did_ know that Harry could deal with it.

" _Shut up_ ," he hissed darkly, making the wriggling figure beneath him still suddenly in surprise. Good. Bantu was usually a second language, so Harry took a risk by speaking zulu, but apparently it was one well rewarded if he was understood, it was the second most spoken language but he hadn't found any reference texts for Shona, and Swahili was just impossible for him to wrap his brain around. It shouldn't have been, but for some reason he just couldn't. " _Enlighten me,_ " he requested smoothly as he leaned down, " _That scream just now was a jobberknoll. Now what is a European native bird doing in the wild reaches of Zaire? Hm?_ " he crooned even as his wand heated up.

The young man began to hyperventilate as the wandtip inched closer and closer to his eye, " _I don't know! I was out looking for – for – my older brother! Sometimes he comes out here to party with his friends!_ " the youth lied frantically.

" _And that's why you smell of blood, and potion ingredients, hmmm?_ " the Gryffindor demanded lowly as he heard Mister Scamander approaching over his shoulder. The youth's eyes trailed up and anger creased his expression for a moment as he cursed under his breath. Harry flicked his eyes up a moment, and paused.

Mister Scamander had the tiny jobberknoll in his cupped palms, the bird looked even more abused up close, its feathers half-ripped out, the others freshly grown in on bruised skin. It was the look on the mythozoologist's face that made Harry pause, and straighten up from where he crouched like a predator over his next meal. His lips were pressed tightly together, and his eyes were sharp and bright with anger, and pain.

"They plucked her to death," he explained flatly, his voice only shaking a little as he gently drew the dead creature against his chest, "They charmed her feathers to grow again, and again, and again, and ripped them out hard enough to – she died of internal bleeding, and shock."

The youth wriggled, trying to get his fingers to his wand holster at his hip, Harry punched him in the back of the head without looking.

"Could she have flown very far in her state?" he asked, even as his gaze flickered from the broken little bird, to the Hufflepuff's face. Still waters ran deep, Harry knew that, and right now he got the feeling that something was brewing under the surface of the curly haired man's calm.

He shook his head, eyes shuttering closed for all of a moment.

Harry took a deep breath, and then turned his attention back to the stubbornly silent young man beneath him. He smiled. It wasn't a nice expression. He didn't bother saying anything, he just stunned him.

"Aren't you – going to question him, or anything?" Mister Scamander objected, staring at him indignantly.

"No. He'd have lied anyway, and torture is a waste of time," the Gryffindor declared as he once again began to rummage in his auror kit. It wasn't like he _needed_ to question the kid anyway. After his own escapades of evading the law at seventeen, he worked closely with Hermione and George in developing several new pieces of tech, and charms, that would make such hiding next to impossible. He only made such things available to the rest of the auror department after he, Ron, and Neville had gone through and ferreted out every inch of corruption in the DMLE as a whole. "People lie more when you torture them, they'll tell you _anything_ to make the pain stop, they'll tell you what they think you want to know and sometimes that can be the truth, but the problem is, how do you know its the truth? So you keep going and they lie. Complete waste of time. I don't have any truth serum on me at the moment either, and..." he glanced to the dead bird in Mister Scamander's hands, "It would be poor taste to use what was at hand to make more of it."

It took a moment, but he realised after a pause, and drew the dead bird a little more tightly to his chest. Harry didn't blame him. Mister Scamander was historically _known_ as a bleeding heart when it came to his creatures, not that Harry was much better, it was well known that he was _abominably_ weak to children. A few dark wizards had thought to use that to their advantage, not realising it was akin to waving a red flag in front of the world's most pissed off bull.

Eventually, he dragged his Peek-a-boo scope, guaranteed to see through walls and wards, and his mowsing rods, works like a pair of dowsing rods but instead of water, it finds magic. A quick check of the scope, and the removal of no less than _three_ different prank spells and charms (goddamnit George, stop pranking his field equipment!), he raised it to his eye and gave the surroundings a sweep.

Magic would show up in varying different colours, the colour would depend on the type of magic, most magical creatures and plants would show up in shades of green to indicate they were naturally occurring. Humans would vary between gold and dark red depending on the type of magic they used, gold for the light magic spectrum, dark red for dark magic. The boy at his feet was a kind of muddy colour, indicating that while he wasn't a dark wizard, he used his fair share of crueller intentioned magics, and often. Wards were often in blue and purple, and unidentified magic was in white so it could be noticed first (unidentified magic was often the most dangerous because no one knew what it actually did).

He didn't see anything at first glance, his own wards were a vibrant, powerful tapestry of aqua blue, sapphire, and amethyst, Mister Scamander was a bright light golden colour, and he saw the glimmer of greens and distant whites across the natural world without issue. But... no sign of any blues or purples outside their own wards.

"Any sign?" Mister Scamander prompted.

"Not yet," Harry admitted, "The scope can see through solid objects, but not an entire forest of them. They're likely past the treeline overthere. Sort the jobberknoll, and grab your case. I'll head over and see what I find, use these to find me," he said passing him the mowsing roads. Given his magical strength, they were next to useless _for_ him, they would only ever point in his direction unless he was in the department of mysteries or Hogwarts, but if anyone else in his team needed to find him, they were handy to keep around.

Quite noticeably, the Hufflepuff did _not_ enquire as to what was going to happen to the bound and unconscious youth at their feet. Apparently Mister Scamander could be quite callous when he felt the situation called for it.

Harry shook the thought off as he prowled through the trees, occasionally pausing to put the scope to his eye, and baring his teeth in satisfaction when he spotted the glimmer of blue and purple through the trees the deeper he went in. The smile dropped as he got closer.

Airfield.

There were cages filled with creatures, the place was well lit, people working into the dark of the setting sun still harvesting ingredients. Harry could see tiny orb-birdcages filled with half-plucked tired looking jobberknolls, an unconscious Re'em on a raised platform, tubes stealing blood draining down into buckets, silently bleating half-naked fwoopers crammed into cages. He watched a tank of bundimun slowly get squashed under a plank of wood until their natural secretions filled the bottom of the double layered tank, once there were six inches worth of secretions, the wood was lifted and each individual bundimun was removed, and then dropped into a damp wooden box lined with mouldy canvas. Everywhere he turned was a different magical creature, most of which weren't even native to the area. A big plastic tub full of billywigs could be seen practically vibrating on its table as the inhabitants swarmed inside.

People were calling across the closed off airfield, most he couldn't understand, but he did catch one announcement.

The re'em wasn't giving out as much blood as it should.

Kill it then. The parts will still sell for a great price.

Harry couldn't wait for Mister Scamander to catch up.

He tore the wards down and marched inside.

 _ **000**_

Something had been bothering Auror Peverell all day, and Newt didn't know how to even broach the subject with the young man who was doing his damn best to push him away. For his own good, no doubt, he was quite firmly of the opinion that they shouldn't be involved, and it wouldn't surprise Newt in the slightest that the day they reached any form of civilisation would also be the day that Auror Peverell disappeared into the heaving tide of humanity never to be seen again.

He wasn't going to let that happen, but he still didn't know how to deal with the current situation. He wasn't _good_ with _people_. He couldn't deal with them. Didn't know how to. Creatures were so much easier. If Auror Peverell were one of them, it would be so much simpler to just assert his dominance and then _take care of him_ like someone should have been doing, but apparently never did.

And now this. Poachers.

That poor jobberknoll.

Anger burned hot and hard in the pit of his stomach as he couldn't help but imagine what her living conditions were like, what her last few weeks had been like, how terrified she must have been to be snatched from her home, dragged to another country, attacked again and again and again. If she could have screamed she would have screamed herself raw. And just when she finally managed to get her freedom... He had been _right there_. Right there! If only he had noticed! He could have helped, maybe even saved her!

He spelled a small tear in the ground open beneath the tree she died in, and gently set her inside before spelling it shut again. Bleeding heart they called him, he knew it. Vengeful... that was a lot less known.

The sky lit up over the forest, and Newt felt his heart stop as lightning crackled across the visible threads of wardlines before the whole lot dissolved, shattering and burning in front of his eyes.

He bolted, turning around and scrambling back for his suitcase, and sped for the forest, long legs eating the distance as followed the ebb and flow of spell fire and shouting.

Auror Peverell was fighting _everyone_ _at the same time_.

Newt felt his breath still in his lungs as the diminutive Gryffindor marched down the airfield like some kind of unstoppable inevitable force of nature, he practically _danced_ as he twisted his body through spellfire, wielding his magic like an extension of himself.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it was over.

The green eyed young man was suddenly in the thick of it, a single flash of golden edged apparation getting him into the clustered knot of terrified wizards -

and all of them in a single _roaring_ flash of white – flung away from the Gryffindor like rag dolls in a gale.

Fear was a cold hand on his chest as he slowly approached, the Gryffindor scanning his surroundings in silent intensity, magic writhing off his form as he prowled in a circle, green eyes near enough _glowing_ cat-like in the reflected light of the camp's lanterns.

Newt lifted his hands, palm up, as the auror whipped around, wands pointed at him as his feet crunched on broken glass.

It took a moment, the young man staring at him consideringly while Newt felt a cold sweat itch the back of his neck, and then the wands were down. He straightened up and turned away, marching to one of the near-by cages.

"Go to the Re'em, its lost a lot of blood and needs immediate medical attention. We have billywigs, bundimuns, fwoopers, jobberknolls, and a warehouse here of unknowns." Newt felt his heart lurch into his throat even as Auror Peverell tugged his potions kit from his hip and threw it his way, as a former Chaser he managed to catch it, but it was heavier than he expected. "Use whatever you need in there. I'm leaving the creatures in your care. Get it sorted, Scamander!" he barked ruthlessly, already securing the unconscious poachers.

Later, Newt would spare the thought to be very impressed by the auror, but right now he was too busy trying to prevent a rare and beautiful re'em from _bleeding_ to death on a metal table in a country it shouldn't even know existed.

 _ **000**_

Harry managed to secure all the poachers, even apparating back for the lad he took down earlier, and adding him to the pile. He was in the process of gathering and bagging all of the incriminating evidence before he remembered and wanted to hit himself because _he wasn't an auror anymore_! And he couldn't just take these guys in, it was 1925, there were next to no laws for creature preservation! If these men weren't actually released and given official licences to continue their work, then both he and Scamander would probably end up with a wanted poster at the very least.

He scruffed a hand through his hair before grimacing.

Nothing else for it. Memory charms were never his forte, but it wasn't like he was even going to attempt being discreet or careful about it. He wiped everything. As far back as he can reasonably assume they may have started this disgusting business. So essentially he left a gang of ten year olds in the bodies of adults and readied a portkey to the African Ministry, complete with note explaining their obliviation for being ' _very naughty boys_ '. After that, he began to erase all evidence of the poachers camp having ever blighted the tiny forest. Most of their prisoners had been moved into Mister Scamander's suitcase, the man going back and forth, slowly making sure each species was settled into an appropriate place before coming back to collect another. Soon enough, all that would remain is the anaemic re'em whom hadn't yet stabilised enough to risk being moved.

It was as Mister Scamander passed him to collect another cage of shivering half-naked fwoopers that Harry noticed the man was in tears.

It... wasn't full out bawling. Not even sobbing really. Just, damp eyes and tear-tracks as his face twisted in sympathetic pain with every new creature he reached out to.

Harry caught his shoulder as he moved past, "Scama – Newt, can you manage the rest, or do you need a minute?"

He put as much of his 'Captain' voice into the question as possible, tightening his grip on the taller Hufflepuff's shoulder, trying to convey with the sheer force of his stare that there was _nothing_ wrong with taking a break. All he had to do is say, and Harry would deal with the rest of the creatures himself, get them settled, give Newt a couple of minutes to gather himself.

The mythozoologist reached up and gripped Harry's hand, his fingers are bloody, and he had a lot of new scratches and bites across his hands and arms, both bandages from when Harry patched him up after the nundu cub are filthy. But his hand was steady, and hot as he gave the auror a tired, crooked grin of gratitude.

"I'm sure I'll manage. Thank you," he rasped gently, giving Harry's hand a small squeeze before carrying on.

Harry sighed deeply as he watched the Hufflepuff move on. It was not only childish and very inappropriate, but he didn't much care as he kicked one of the poachers grumpily in the shin as he turned to go and dismantle the warehouse.

 _ **0000**_

 **Newt and Harry to the rescue of injured and abused critters the world over! Woo!**


	7. Chapter 7

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Seven**

Newt worked himself to the ground tending to his recently rescued creatures, only mildly surprised to see Auror Peverell at his side once he'd finished dismantling the poacher's camp. The Hufflepuff had the devil of a time with further expansions to environments in order to house them all effectively, not to mention now he had to nurse them. He unfortunately completely blitzed the Gryffindor's potions kit in his efforts, but many more of the creatures survived than Newt thought they would.

Many were frightfully aggressive after their terrible times, and it absolutely _broke_ his heart to handle them so ruthlessly in order to treat their injuries, but he had to. Otherwise they would have only made themselves worse.

It was no surprise that eventually he crashed to sleep. Waking up in his bed under the desk was a smidge of a surprise. He hadn't slept in it since he met Auror Peverell who – was asleep in the corner of his shed, slumped on the rickety wooden chair with his legs kicked up on top of a dry goods barrel. He was going to get a horrible neck ache in that position the mythozoologist noticed as he slowly crawled out of his warm cocoon of blankets. His back ached as he straightened, and for a moment he was tempted just to drape a blanket over the auror's shoulders and call it job done, but... Newt didn't even remember where he passed out, which meant he had been put to bed. He looked down at his sock-clad feet. His belt had even been removed along with his shoes for better comfort.

Carefully, he wedged his hands under the Gryffindor and _slowly_ lifted him. He didn't stir.

While the auror wasn't exactly a feather, he was a _lot_ lighter than Newt had been expecting, and the mythozoologist was once again seized with a sting of concern, and frustration. It wasn't even any great strain to gently shuffle him onto his own bed under the desk, and tug several blankets over him.

He sat back on his heels, and just stared for a moment.

Auror Peverell was young. And for a moment, Newt worried about just _how_ young he was. He didn't remember him from Hogwarts, and someone like him would have drawn a _lot_ of attention (most of it negative if Newt was honest). And alright, if it were _after_ Newt had graduated that he showed up then it wouldn't be too bad, seven years wasn't too great a difference, that would make him twenty-one at least. And auror training lasted three years, so he would have been a fresh graduate. But that kind of attitude...

Newt reached out, brushing the Gryffindor's hair behind his ear.

His behaviour back at the camp... that was the kind of authority he was used to seeing his brother wield. That ruthless competency that didn't just expect to be followed, but _demanded_ it. He wasn't mimicking someone, he commanded with the ease, expectancy, and experience of someone used to it, who had done it a hundred times. Someone used to being a leader, and used to being followed. Not only that, but _trusting_ Newt to know his job and how to handle it, but still making sure it wasn't too much for him in a way that neither doubted his abilities, nor his work ethic. It wasn't the behaviour of a rookie. It was closer to the behaviours and attitudes he had seen in muggle officers, youths who had found themselves promoted ahead of their time, but had buckled down, risen to the challenge, and proved their mettle.

Had he... been in the war?

Minister Evermonde's emergency laws hadn't exactly stopped Newt or his brother from signing up, or his brother's bestfriend from following them into the conflict to keep them out of trouble (Charlus tried, poor man, but he could barely keep Theseus in check, he hadn't a yeti's chance in fiendfyre of managing them both). It wouldn't be too far out of the realms of expectation if Auror Peverell were willing to break _that_ law that perhaps he would even break the one forbidding underage soldiers...

It would definitely explain some of his baring.

And why, perhaps, he would withdraw from Newt and any possibility of a future with him. He probably thought he... was too damaged for such things. _He_ certainly had when he first returned from the Eastern Front. Both his mother and his brother had folded him back into their family with such immediacy and intensity that such thoughts were never allowed to fester, and take hold. But they nearly had. They _nearly_ had.

So what of Auror Peverell, who had no family, no close friends, and no one even that he could particularly trust?

Sympathy made his heart ache as he sat back. His mother called him a caretaker, but for all that Newt was skilled in healing wounds of the body, wounds in the heart were so much _harder_ , and he didn't know how to fix this one. Still didn't know how his mother even managed it. As much as he would have liked to believe the old muggle adage of 'Love Conquers All', or even 'Time Heals All Wounds', he knew that they just weren't true. And right now... he didn't _love_ Auror Peverell, and the man had made his feelings on the matter quite clear.

Newt scrubbed a hand through his filthy hair, and got to his feet. He would... just have to keep working on him, just like Cecily, the Ironbelly he had been assigned to during the war. She had been the most abused of the lot until Newt got his hands on her. It had taken almost a year of careful tending, but he knew it _wasn't_ his imagination when even the squad commander commented on how much more docile she was compared to the others. Newt had never wanted to hurt a man more than that _bastard_. Just thinking about him was enough to get the Hufflepuff steaming.

He left the shed before he did something foolish that could potentially wake the Gryffindor, and began his rounds amongst the creatures, taking special care with the new arrivals. But to his surprise, they had already been seen to, and Newt _knew_ he had fallen asleep before being able to tend to all of them.

And yet, the billywigs were all happily buzzing overhead, their food-dish filled with decimated fruit skins and juice, indicating the swarm had been particularly _ravenous_. The fwoopers were still silenced, but their bruised and sore skin had been rubbed down with an unknown ointment, one or two even had muggle style dressings, they were huddled together for warmth, sleeping peacefully, and looking much happier than when they came in. The bundimuns were still in cases, but they had been separated into a huge glass tank, each with its own wooden log and waterdish, each tank was double-layered and Newt could see that the smaller tank under the habitats could be removed and drained. There were still insects in each tank, some with more than others, Newt didn't have very high hopes that many of the would survive, but they were in the best environment for recovery so there was little for him to do with them. One of the enclosures had a small pile of sleeping tebo, the youngest of them with bandaged legs, next to them was the golden re'em, still sleeping, a pile of feed to one side, a bowl of water on the other, both easily within reaching distance. He still looked weak, but at least comfortable now.

All of the creatures he hadn't yet been able to tend to had been fixed up, and put to pasture as it were. There was literally nothing for him to do.

He glanced back to the shed in amazement mingled with disbelief. Not only a genius combining potions and healing, a juggernaut on the battlefield, but also an expert on the care of magical creatures too? Just who was Auror Peverell, and why couldn't Newt have found him years ago?

Shaking his head, he went inside to hunt his manuscript and journal down. He needed to record all this.

He had been keeping religious journal entries since the start of his sabbatical, they were coloured with his own personal bias while he kept his manuscript as impersonal as possible. No doubt it would need further editing before he handed it in to be published, but for now he recorded the events of the previous evening in his journal at the table just outside his shed.

It was peaceful, the atmosphere almost sleepy with contentment as the new rescues breathed what was probably the biggest sigh of relief they'd dared for months. And if _somehow_ in the middle of his sketches of fwooper wings, and billywig stings, a certain sleeping auror was drawn... Well no one was there to comment as Newt carefully pulled the sheet of paper out, and then tucked it into his pocket, flushing a little in embarrassment.

 _ **000**_

"You can't keep him," Harry stated flatly, perched on top of a rock as Mister Scamander carefully groomed the now awake re'em eagerly eating ninety pounds worth of dry feed, the occasional sugar cane snuck into the stack prompting happy noises from the creature in question. Given the blood loss, Harry figured a little extra sugar would be a good idea, but didn't think the small amount of sugar cubes that Mister Scamander possessed would be enough.

Mister Scamander looked up from the golden hide with wide gold-brown eyes, ' _who me?_ ' written across his face. Harry arched an eyebrow and pinned him with an unimpressed stare.

The mythozoologist smiled sheepishly at him, ducking his head, and peeking back up at him as Harry shook his head, "I know," he admitted at last, "I wasn't going to."

Harry hummed disbelievingly, unable to stop himself from smirking just a little.

"Of course you weren't, Mister Scamander," he agreed dryly.

"Oh, do call me Newt. I think at this point we can dispense with the formalities, Auror Peverell," the Hufflepuff cheeked, grinning down at a particularly matted section of hair on the re'em he was trying to tease out. He heard the Gryffindor huff in disgust to have his own words thrown back in his face, and had to swallow back a laugh. Newt peeked up at him again, the young man seemed so much more relaxed since the fight, comfortable in a way that the Hufflepuff had yet to see him before. It was looking at him now, lounging on a rock watching the tebo running around at his feet, Newt realised that this was actually the first time he had seen the man at ease since he met him. Comfortable in his skin. Lazy, almost. Clearly he had worked off some manner of stress in that fight.

"Fine, _Newt_ ," he all but croons mockingly, and even though it's supposed to annoy the Puff, it has quite the opposite effect. "If we're dropping formalities, I'd like to remind you my name is Harry," he added as he leaned back on his palms, foot twitching like the tail of a cat.

After last night, Newt was beginning to understand just why that ritual matched him with a merlin-damned Nundu of all creatures.

"I know," he says instead. He continued his check on the re'em who is still a little anaemic, but he was doing alright for now. It would take some time before he would return to a weight that would make Newt at all happy about releasing him back to his natural habitat.

"How long would it take to get to China from here?" Harry asked curiously, kicking his heels back and forth as he watched. "That is where they're from, right?"

Newt hummed, "Hm, oh! Yes. They're most commonly found in the Far East, and several parts in North America. As for how long, it would depend on what method we use to get there," he admitted slowly as he patted the pleased bull on the side and rounded his diminished bulk, approaching the Gryffindor. "Sea would be the fastest," he admitted, rubbing his chin as he leaned back to observe the younger man.

"Never been on a boat," Harry commented idly before snorting, "A proper one anyway," he corrected.

Newt smiled a little, thinking back on the little fleet of boats every first year rode before the sorting ceremony. The night of his Sorting it had been storming horribly, he thought he was going to drown for most of the trip, but immediately forgot anything about it the second he saw the lazily drifting tentacles of the squid in the water. The number of times he had points deducted in his first year for being caught 'harassing' the Great Squid was enough for his brother to joke about how he should have been in Gryffindor, not Hufflepuff (a comfort at the time as he had been very upset that none of his classmates wanted to be his friend).

"If we cut through Tanzania, we can catch the ship from Cape Town as it follows the coastline up. It will probably take a month, maybe two to reach Hong Kong," the Hufflepuff theorised as he climbed up the rock to sit beside the former auror, stretching his legs out with a small grimace as his right calf threatened to cramp. "After that, we most likely will have to catch a train up North to the Shing-jang province, sorry, I can't pronounce it very well," he said with a grimace.

" _Xinjiang_ ," Harry corrected idly lifting a hand for one of the rescued jobberknoll's to land on.

"Shin-jang," Newt echoed dutifully, watching as the jobberknoll hopped along the Gryffindor's fingers, flicking its remaining flight feathers at him, as if showing them off. He couldn't stop himself from smiling as he watched the two, he moved a little closer, and lifted his own hand out for the diminutive jobberknoll to eagerly hop to. Harry turned to look at him with a small grin, Newt smiled crookedly back at him.

And then the Gryffindor realised how close they were and reeled back fast enough to nearly fall off the stone they sat on.

"Not bad!" he announced, a little louder than necessary as he jumped from the stone, "We'll make a linguist out of you yet!" the auror declared brightly, pointedly not looking in his direction as he casually scooped up one of the tebo running past. The ash coloured warthog squealed in affront as Harry tucked it under his arm to check the bandages around it's leg. "Hey, can you check this guy? I'm shit with healing magic, and I'm worried it might get infected," he declared.

Newt knew a deflection when he saw one, but the chance of one of the rescued creatures being hurt was one he couldn't ignore as he pushed himself off the rock they had been sat on. "Bad with healing magic?" he echoed doubtfully, "Now I don't believe that for a second."

Harry didn't meet his eyes as he handed the squirming, bleating creature over, "Believe it. Can't so much as heal a papercut. I studied muggle medicine, potions, and adapted common household charms and spells to work in a pinch, but I can't do that with most of these creatures as I don't know the chemistry of their blood-make up or organs."

Just - "How smart _are_ you?" Newt found himself asking in sheer disbelief as he stared agog at the young man.

That startled him into looking up, green eyes confused, "Uh... about average? Only got like... five E's and one O on my OWLS."

"What about your NEWTs?" the Hufflepuff asked, because that couldn't be right.

"Never sat them. After the war I got told I didn't need to."

He was going to strangle his brother. That was the kind of foolishness he would have fostered and encouraged, and being a War Hero there was little chance of Minister Evermonde growing enough of a spine to refuse him. It was a wonder he didn't fold like so much wet parchment the moment Harold Potter started publicly condemning him for the emergency law he wrote up banning them from the conflict (it might have been because Harold's younger brother was Charlus, and he didn't want any of the three of them being arrested when they came back, but still).

He couldn't help it, Newt dropped his head into his hands. Or rather, tried to. There was still a tebo in his arms, so in the end he got a face full of squirming now _invisible_ magical warthog.

"Harry, I truly regret to inform you that... you are as far from average as we currently are from Canada," the Hufflepuff informed him as he looked up, face twisted in disbelieving amusement, because, good gracious _how_ could someone be so skilled, and knowledgable, and _not realise it?_

He huffed folding his arms, "Tell me about it," he retorted sarcastically, "Complete bullshit is what I am, Newtie, complete bull – _shit_. That is my life. I should be dead at a minimum of sixty times that I can think of at the top of my head!" he exclaimed heatedly, waving one hand in frustration as he complained. He whipped around, waving his arm dismissively, "And that's just to start. Really, I should go and be a hermit somewhere. It'd be safer for a start!"

And he was gone.

" _Newtie_?" the Hufflepuff echoed, looking down at the re'em who had been watching the proceedings with interest.

It snorted at him and returned to its feed.

 _ **000**_

That guy was _dangerous_ , and Harry needed to keep his distance before he did something worse than what he'd already done.

The Gryffindor ran a hand through his hair as he climbed out of the suitcase, squinting against the first brush of African sun that nearly blinded him. After clearing out the poacher's camp, and making sure all the creatures were settled after putting the exhausted Hufflepuff to bed, Harry ducked out to send the men to the African Ministry before grabbing the case and getting the hell out of the area. He didn't exactly _know_ who those guys were working for, whether it was an illegal poachers camp, or just one that ' _lost its permits honest guv -cough cough-_ ', but he wasn't going to take the risk. He hoofed it a good fifty to sixty miles away before hiding them in a thicket of bushes and tall grass, only laying down a few basic rudimentary wards that wouldn't show up on any magical scanning equipment he knew of.

Harry gently touched the back of his hand to his cheeks and slumped helplessly. He was postbox red, and it was all that asshole's fault.

Okay. Okay, okay, _okay_.

He needed to nip this growing attraction right in the bud, get rid of it dead before he did some stupid _Gryffindor_ dive-in-headfirst idiocy that collapsed the timeline and accidentally killed everyone he ever loved before they were ever born (excepting Dumbledore, but that one was a bit... love/hate/hurt. Too complicated to deal with right now. Oh wait, he was alive right now... wasn't he?) - _focus Harry!_

He slapped his cheeks and moved a little way aways from the case, finding a nice little clear patch through the grass that was just sunny enough to suit him perfectly as he sat down, and leaned back on his palms. Right. Do the do like Hermione did. Break it all down into little pieces and resolve each individual piece before putting it together and consolidating the whole, shouldn't be too hard.

Okay, problem one, Newt was painfully charming. And not in the same way as some wizards Harry had known, no, this was more the same kind as Neville was and, god forbid, Cedric Diggory had been. It was an easy, kind thing. He was so very earnest, and genuine, and Harry had never really encountered that before, not in people who were _interested_ in him. There had always been an ulterior motive, even with Ginny – though hers had been so much more innocent than any of the others. Newt knew next to nothing about him, but cared all the same. It was written into every line of his body, stamped on every inch of him. He cared. Too much, Harry felt, for a suicidally stupid Gryffindor who couldn't go five days without finding some new kind of trouble to get himself into. He cared about his creatures, he cared about _Harry._ Newton Scamander had a problem, and that problem was that he gave far too many fucks about a world that gave none for him. Harry... couldn't really do anything about that, it was Newt's problem, and more than likely it would end up dragging him into trouble sooner or later. How good was he at combat magic, Harry suddenly wondered in concern, sitting upright and biting at his thumbnail, scowling. Could he afford to leave that curly haired menace on his own knowing that he would end up on the business end of a poacher's wand if he turned his back for five minutes?

No, no – Harry stop it! Don't think about it! You'll only talk yourself into staying! What else was there? C'mon boy. You're trying to talk yourself out of this, not into it. What else?

Newt had an almost _puppyish_ enthusiasm for all things new, that would get annoying and fast. He had been bringing back plants, and animals over the last few days before they hit the poachers just to gush about them at Harry during the evenings. Sharing little bits about what he knew, asking for Harry's opinion on this and that. He was a genuinely happy soul who loved to explore and learn and – _he needed to stop thinking right now._

Harry smacked himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

 _What else was there?_ There had to be something else actually _about_ the man that he could find objectionable, because there was definitely nothing wrong with his _looks_.

Harry groaned pathetically as he covered his face with his hands in horror.

"I cannot be thinking this stuff," he whined under his breath, "This is _bad_ , very very bad."

He couldn't say the Hufflepuff was unskilled. Not even Hermione was good enough with charms to create that kind of space within a suitcase, and then later _add_ to it while maintaining the structural integrity. Not to mention the complexity of those ward-stones, Harry had seen them, the interlocking and over lapping arrays were more akin to a work of art than a tool, and Bill would have literally offered to be the man's concubine for the chance to study them if he even knew they existed. He was world renounced for his work in the mythozoology field, pioneering over a hundred different careers just with one book alone, and could quite honestly be considered the father of Creature Conservation in both Europe and America. Before Newton Scamander, there were no laws for Creature Conservation outside those very few exceptions essential to certain potions, or to wizarding culture.

None of those history books warned him that the man himself was devastatingly attractive.

He sighed flopping back onto the grass, staring at the sky overhead.

"I'm fucking doomed," he decided at long last. "Absolutely fucking doomed."

 _ **0000**_

 **And that's where the chapter ends because holy crap I could NOT write anymore. I have been wrestling with the last segments for almost an hour. Enjoy my lovelies.**


	8. Chapter 8

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Eight**

How did one go about seducing a Gryffindor?

Newt huffed in frustration as he sat at his desk, chin propped up on one elbow, fiddling with a pencil as he stared out of the small window in front of him, watching said Gryffindor carefully trimming the overgrown claws on the fwoopers. He had transfigured himself a change of clothes, one of those collarless buttonless shirts in black with a set of dragon wings across the shoulders, and a pair of blue trousers that looked like canvas and were _maddeningly_ distracting every time the man bent over!

The Hufflepuff grumbled to himself, having to physically turn away from the window and glower at the wall opposite. It had been four days since they left the poacher's camp, steadily hiking their way across Zaire towards Tanzania (how Harry knew where on earth they were going, he could not figure out), and Newt had made next to no progress in getting under the Gryffindor's skin. He had hoped that once the barrier of first names had been breached it would be easier, but unfortunately not.

"Should have remembered how stubborn they are," he muttered to himself, giving the watching jobberknoll perched on the stairs of his shed a crooked smile. He reached out and gently stroked the top of the little blue bird's head, jewel bright black eyes closing contentedly as it leaned into the touch. As fascinating as it was, he did find it somewhat disappointing that these birds were mute until the point of their deaths, he liked to imagine they had a beautiful song.

He glanced over his shoulder, out of the window, and saw Harry smothered in birds, stood like a somewhat alarmed scarecrow as the elderly augrey that Newt didn't even _remember_ bringing into his case smugly preened his hair.

He snorted, watching as the young man turned in a wobbly circle, wings and feathers fluttering as he moved, but none of the creatures flew off or left him, even as he experimentally waved one arm to get rid of them. For someone with a cat animagus form, the local bird population certainly seemed to be enchanted with him. The augrey craned its head over to glare him in the eye, Harry poked it in the beak with his nose, whistling something that had the augrey crying and hopping from his shoulders to his head, much to the Gryffindor's noisy dismay as he yelped about how that wasn't what he meant!

"What are you doing?" he couldn't help but ask as he peered out of the shed, grinning incredulously at the sight before him.

"Training my army of birds to take over the world," was the prompt retort, "Or at least just Luxenbourg."

Newt couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh you laugh now, but you won't once you witness the terrifying power of my beasts! Birds, attack!" the Gryffindor commanded, pointing dramatically at the Hufflepuff.

The augrey crooned happily, and continued to preen his hair. Following the larger bird's example, none of the others bothered to remove themselves from the auror's person.

Harry huffed in disgust as Newt had to clamp a hand over his mouth, "Bloody freeloaders," the auror complained grumpily.

 _ **000**_

"Look Curly, we're both filthy. You might be used to it by this point, but I'm not willing to risk catching something just because I couldn't be bothered to wash my ass," Harry declared darkly. He felt disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Cleaning charms could only do so much, and they weren't doing a hell of a lot for him anymore. Hence their stopping at one of the smaller rivers, not populated by reptiles capable of biting faces off, and Harry insistence of getting washed up. He hadn't gone so long without bathing in his life, and it was an experience he didn't quite fancy repeating.

Newt had his hands lifted defensively, looking nervous, "Now, please, I'm not saying it's a bad idea. Just – at least let me check if the water is safe? All manner of diseases live in unclean water, and you can never be too careful," he pleaded as Harry folded his arms and prepared to be as stubborn about this as he had to.

Harry gestured him onwards as he pulled his potions kit out and began to rummage for the things he needed to make a half-decent bar of soap that wouldn't kill any of the natural wildlife further down stream. Ginny had torn him a new one about washing his hair with handsoap back when they had been together, and then taught him how to make his own soap that could double as both shampoo and bodywash. Something she had learned as a little girl when their funds were tight, and both she and Molly had to make due with what ingredients they could find in the garden (the boys of course were perfectly happy to do their hair with handsoap, but she liked Harry's hair too much to let him do the same).

Thankfully the recipe she gave him was one that didn't require any heating, just mixing, and a chilling spell to set. He made two of the pale yellow bars, the smell was a rather strong lemon scent but that was simply because sixty percent of it actually was made of lemon.

"The water should be safe. Is... that soap?" he heard the Hufflepuff ask in astonishment.

"Yep. Shampoo as well. My ex-girlfriend taught me how to make it. Her family were poor so she and her mum would make it when funds were too tight to buy hair-care products," he explained easily as he began to close up the kit. "Here, this one is your – ss," he trailed off, eyes widening as he turned around.

He was naked.

And for once Harry was not too hungover to appreciate the view.

 _ **000**_

Newt wanted to drown himself in sheer mortification. After he got his soap from Harry, he'd immediately jumped into the river to get cleaned up. He had run out of soap about a month before meeting the auror, and so was very much looking forward to getting properly clean, he hadn't even thought _twice_ about immediately scrubbing himself up.

Not until he looked up, wondering why he was still on his own, and found the auror stood next to a bathtub filled with gently steaming water and an expression of sheer incredulousness on his face as he looked down at him.

"Why are you actually _IN_ the river? If you need me to transfigure a tub, you just have to ask," he pointed out kindly, now looking a little amused as Newt sank into the river until the water was rushing up his bright red ears.

It felt very much like some manner of 'walk of shame' as he sheepishly climbed out of the river, and into the second bathtub that the Gryffindor transfigured for him. That the younger man didn't laugh at him was his only consolation – at least until he sank into the hot water.

It was decided.

He was building a bathroom in his suitcase at the earliest opportunity. How could he have gone so long without hot baths?

 _ **000**_

"Hold still," Newt told him gently, hands on Harry's shin as the Gryffindor grit his teeth and strained not to flinch away, or kick him in the face as he gently manipulated the auror's broken ankle. The strangled noise that hissed out from his teeth wasn't quite a whimper, or a growl, but somewhere in the middle as the mythozoologist pushed _something_ back into place.

Harry gasped and tried to jerk out of the man's hands with a grunt of pain, but wasn't able to manage it. Newt tightened his grip to the point of almost leaving bruises on Harry's leg as he pulled him back closer, bracing his broken ankle on his thigh, and pulling his wand out. One quick tap, a charm he would have never been able to learn, and the pain eased to a dull roar of discomfort as the bones knitted back together. Leaving just stressed and damaged flesh in their wake.

"You're alright, you're alright," the Hufflepuff soothed, hands gently smoothing down his calf and ankle as Harry shook violently, teeth gritted against the phantom pain. Merlin but his hands were like _brands_ on his skin. A quick flick of the Hufflepuff's wand and a blanket was settling over Harry's shoulders, "What happened? I've never known you to be the clumsy sort," he asked anxiously, peering up at him with olive green eyes.

"I don't know," Harry grit out, "I just... slipped. Must have stepped wrong on a rock or something," he gasped out. He had been too busy staring at the mythozoologist to be paying attention to where he was going. The Hufflepuff had very strange eyes, one moment they looked brown, the next he could swear they were closer to green, it all seemed to be dependent on the lighting around them, and Harry had been fascinated by how they changed colour in the cool light under the trees, looking green until the sun managed to illuminate them, then they turned a kind of hazel brown. Harry had never seen anyone's eyes do that before in his life.

Newt hummed, and pressed a hand against Harry's forehead, making the Gryffindor grimace and try to move back a little because his hands were really uncomfortably warm.

"You don't seem to be going into shock, but your temperature is really low," he observed in concern, making Harry cough out a laugh.

"Low? I'm _fine._ Newt, _you're_ the one that's way too hot!" he pointed out as he began to stretch his ankle, grimacing in discomfort the phantom pain of the break fading into the kind of pain that came with a severely twisted ankle. He paused when the hand at his forehead shifted to cup his cheek, going very still as he stared down at his ankle, swollen, angry red, and contrasting so _very_ much with the tan of the mythozoologist's scarred freckled fingers.

"Let me worry about that," the Hufflepuff told him gently, "And about you. Someone needs to."

Harry opened his mouth nervously but couldn't think of anything to say, well aware of how his heart sped up in a mixture of anticipation, anxiousness, and discomfort. Thankfully (and disappointingly), Newt pulled back and conjured several bandages to wrap around his ankle instead of doing something that they would both probably regret.

 _ **000**_

Newt didn't often have nightmares, not anymore. But sometimes, sometimes he would jar awake in the dark of night in a cold sweat, fire and screaming imprinted behind his eyelids, unable to close them for fear of being unable to open them again and being lost forever in a hellish vision of a war long ended.

He hadn't had them since he ran into Harry, the Gryffindor somehow providing some kind of anchor, preventing him from descending into his own internal darkness. Newt hadn't even noticed until he was suddenly knee deep in a memory twisted into nightmare by his own subconscious.

He couldn't breathe, it was too hot.

He struggled out of his light bedding, and scrambled out of the tent they set up that evening. It had been windy and threatening rain when they stopped to make camp, but it seemed like the downpour had been brief.

His breath misted in front of him as he staggered out of the tent into the frigid chill of the African night, surprised to find he wasn't alone as he spotted Harry a small distance away going through a complicated series of movements that, if he tilted his head, looked a little like duelling forms his brother taught him, but more aggressive. He rubbed his arms, taking several deep breaths as he slowly padded over, and then sat down on the wet dirt to watch.

Moonlight was surprisingly strong, and Harry's pale skin almost glowed despite the awful sunburn he often suffered with, no matter how much sunscreen or burn-paste he put on, his skin just refused to tan. Last night had been filled with angry serpent-like hissing and swearing as he was forced to dab the paste onto the blistered tips of his ears, Newt cringing in sympathetic pain behind him. It was fascinating to watch him move in the darkness, eventually coming to a standing stop, hands slowly lowering in front of him as he took a deep breath.

"Couldn't sleep?" the Gryffindor asked at long last, glancing over at him.

Newt shook his head, "Memories. The war... I – can never get back to sleep after such dreams," he admitted apologetically.

Harry snorted, turning to look up at the sky, "Join the club."

The two remained in comfortable silence before Harry suddenly turned to him and marched over, Newt blinked in askance a moment before the Gryffindor grabbed his hands, and hauled him to his feet.

"What do you know of martial arts?" he asked shortly.

"Uh, next to nothing, I'm afraid," Newt admitted, bewildered as the young man moved to his side, and grinned at him.

"Now's as good a time as any to learn. Might help you get back to sleep later."

Newt would never admit that Harry was right after the way the Gryffindor had thrown him to the floor repeatedly that evening, he had fallen into a deep exhausted dreamless slumber the moment he crawled into his hammock, just like he would never _on pain of death_ admit to revisiting those few times when he found himself pinned down in what few private moments he could obtain while living in such close quarters with him.

 _ **000**_

Tanga was a vibrant port city, rich in trade, activity, and wealth.

And Harry had never felt more unwelcome than ever before.

Newt had rummaged some presentable clothes out of his suitcase, a light cotton shirt that was still mostly clean, a sepia coloured waist coat, and a light white jacket to accompany a dark blue bowtie that literally came out of nowhere. Harry found himself staring at the ill-fitting clothing with something close to amusement and disbelief. Newt had _clearly_ grown a few inches since they were bought for him, and both his shoulders and his chest had also filled out considerably since. He was practically crammed in, and the only article of clothing that wasn't too tight were in fact his too baggy trousers.

Harry shook his head and dragged him down an alley, two quick flicks, and they were now sized to fit, "It won't hold for longer than a few days, but it'll have to do for now. You _need_ to go shopping, Newt," the Gryffindor chided before looking around nervously.

Newt watched him in amused fascination, "Harry, you're the one who needs to go shopping," he retorted before tapping him on the head, transfiguring his clothing into something a little more appropriate than the short-sleeved top and distracting blue trousers he had been wearing before. White shirt, grey waistcoat, dark green bowtie, and black trousers, the Gryffindor squawked in affront as his clothing suddenly shifted in uncomfortable ways.

Newt peered out of the alley, hand pressed against the Gryffindor's arm nervously before he pulled back, "Now, uh, Harry, there's probably something – you seemed surprised when – with our reception here," he settled on instead, prompting the Gryffindor to tilt his head in confusion. Newt swallowed dryly, those eyes were going to be his undoing one of these days. "You – probably didn't know. But the British Muggles, erm, rather took over Tanga about nine years ago after two years of conflict. And they've been exploiting all the natural resources since. So, no one is going to be particularly happy to see us – _they won't do anything violent!_ " he hastened to explain when he felt the way the Gryffindor began to tense up, lean muscle under Newt's hand bunching with intent. "They won't, they can't afford to. But that doesn't mean we're going to be particularly welcomed. So, let's just get our tickets, and get the next boat, yes?"

Harry's eyes were narrow, and intense, but he nodded, "Alright."

And Newt breathed a sigh of relief as he quickly led them from the alley and down towards the docks, unaware of just how high-strung he had just made the Gryffindor prowling in his wake. If no one gave them any trouble, it was likely because they had better sense than to tangle with a bigger predator than they themselves.

 _ **000**_

Of course the only time Newt would be allowed to cuddle Harry to his heart's content would be when the Gryffindor was too dog ill to push him away.

The Hufflepuff sighed as the auror retched into a conjured bucket, gently rubbing his back, and stroking his hair as the young man shuddered and gasped, all but wrapped around the foul smelling bucket as what had to have been everything he'd eaten over the last week decorated the insides – until Newt vanished it with a flick of his wand to save them both the smell.

Sea sickness. Who knew.

Newt wrapped himself around the young man in an effort to provide as much comfort as he could, pressing a kiss against the side of his head as he watched the ocean dip and rise outside the little porthole. It was going to be a long, and miserable two months to China for the auror.

 _ **000**_

Harry had never had motion sickness before, it was as alien to him as a toaster was to Draco Malfoy, and just as revolting probably.

He was fairly sure if it hadn't been for Newt, he probably would have been a lot worse off after refusing any and all food and water for several days until the man dug out some ship's biscuit and practically forced it on him. He'd gone longer at the Dursleys with just stale dog biscuits and tap water to tide him over, it was an unwanted but familiar return to the past, but nothing he couldn't handle. The dry floury monstrosity stuck in his throat, but it did the job of soaking up the bile in his gut, and let him get a few careful sips of water into him. Dog biscuits tasted better in all honesty. But still, as long as he took it a little, and often, he wasn't vomiting his internal organs up, just suffering blinding headaches, nausea, and heartburn. Horrible, horrible heart burn. There was just no getting comfortable, and even moving into the suitcase didn't help like they thought it would. Given how it was a removed and expanded place with some severely heavy duty stability charms that meant everything wasn't thrown against everything else whenever the suitcase was moved, it should have been completely immune from the endless dipping and swooping of the ocean outside. But it didn't seem to matter to Harry. He was still sick, in fact, he was somewhat _worse_ in the suitcase than he was outside of it.

In his better moments, outside of the case, he was able to thank the mythozoologist for taking care of him because even he knew he was in a bad state, Harry was pretty sure he vomited on the man more than once but couldn't remember it. He had to sleep sitting upright most evenings because the heart burn was _agony,_ and threatened to choke him if he lay down. The only times he got any relief from it was when Newt managed to coax some manner of mildly alkaline fluid from one of his herbs in the case, but it couldn't give out very much at a time so it was a rare and brief reprieve from the discomfort. He spent those times when his stomach let him sleeping mostly, greedily accepting any comfort the Hufflepuff gave him because he really did feel horrible.

He would regret it intensely later, but for now, the hugs were nice. And that's all that mattered.

 _ **000**_

For a time, Newt was genuinely frightened that Harry would die while they were sailing around the Indian Ocean.

He lost a _dangerous_ amount of weight, and spent most of the voyage bed-ridden. The ship's doctor even paid them a visit after Newt was found harassing the kitchens for something that Harry could eat and actually keep down. He had been the one to recommend the ship's biscuit and water for the Gryffindor who was _so_ unwell and miserable that he didn't even _try_ to push Newt out of his personal space anymore, but instead pressed in closer.

It was relief in its most profound when the announcement came that they would be making port in Hong Kong that morning. Getting Harry up and dressed was only somewhat difficult, despite his illness he had been very compliant, if not docile throughout anything Newt had to do. The ship's doctor was there to help him get the Gryffindor off the ship, Newt practically carrying him and getting him settled on a bench while the doctor vanished briefly, only to come back ten minutes later with something that had Harry sitting upright in a mixture of desperation and dread even as he willingly took it from him.

"Ginger," the doctor explained to him as the auror grimaced, bracing himself, and took a bite out of the strange knobbly root. "It taste bad. But work good on bad stomach. Good for sea sickness," he explained happily in his choppy but understandable English as Harry choked several mouthfuls of the root down. "Keep it," he advised them when Harry tried to pass it back.

"Thank you," the auror managed to croak out, still looking absolutely ghastly as he leaned against Newt's side, sat limply in one of the benches at the dock.

"Is okay. It good you not die. Trouble for me if you did," he admitted with a bright white grin before clapping Newt on the shoulder and bustling back onto the ship.

The Hufflepuff crouched in front of Harry who was still breathing heavily and looking positively wretched, "Any better?" he asked gently, gripping his hands, thumb stroking his skin gently. Harry shook his head, still taking the same deep calculated breaths he had on the ship so as not to aggravate his stomach or chest discomfort. Newt nodded decisively, "We'll stop here for the night before moving on," he promised, giving Harry's hands a squeeze.

 _ **000**_

Harry woke up feeling better than he had in weeks. He was still exhausted, shaky, and a little sickly, but the heartburn was gone, the headache was gone, and the nausea was a thing of the past. After they left the dockside, both he and Newt had been swallowed by the busy human tide that choked the streets of Hong Kong until Harry tugged the Hufflepuff to one of the cart-pullers, weakly asking to be taken to an inn, or a cheap hostel in Mandarin. The poor man didn't understand a word, it took a little pantomiming and a little faltering French from Newt to get what they wanted across, and they were being shown to a pleasant wayhouse for the night within ten minutes.

Harry crawled into the bed the moment they got into the room, and was only half aware of his shoes being gently pulled off.

Awake now in the middle of the night, he was suddenly only too aware of exactly how badly he had messed up, aware of it just as much as he was of the mythozoologist aggressively cuddled into his side, using him like a faintly vomit scented teddybear, face buried into the side of Harry's head, arm over his chest, half on _top_ of him.

And the worst part was... Harry didn't want to move.

"Bugger."

 _ **0000**_

 **Ahhh, Harry, you're a lost cause my friend. Absolutely lost. The only thing stopping you now is the idea of completely destroying everything you've spent your entire life fighting to protect. Including your life.**

 **Mutual pining, wonderful.**


	9. Chapter 9

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Nine**

Life was pain, and the next few days were _agony_.

Every time Harry tried to re-establish any kind of distance, physical _and_ emotional, between himself and Newt, something would happen that essentially sandwiched them back together. At first it was the bathroom at the wayhouse, Newt had all but hovered as they got washed up, and alright it may have been warranted because of how shaky Harry _still_ was after being ill for so long, but that didn't mean he didn't feel _exceptionally_ uncomfortable with the very naked proximity of a very attractive young man he was very pointedly trying to ignore.

Then it was the train. Harry's Chinese was just too modern to be understood, and not only that but he was fairly sure that everyone was speaking some dialect of Cantonese while Harry only knew modern Mandarin, making it even more useless. They ended up boarding a crowded three day train up to Chongqing in Sichuan Province. And when Harry said it was crowded, he _meant_ it was crowded. He ended up sandwiched against the Hufflepuff, and the window of their carriage, hyper aware and highly uncomfortable. Though thankfully he kept his hands to himself while they were in front of the muggles, there was still the fact that the only time he had outside of the man's immediate arms reach was when Harry went to the tiny filthy little toilet cubicle, or when Newt did so himself – suitcase in hand – to feed his creatures under the guise of 'getting changed' (he would sometimes change the colour of his waistcoat, or cast a cleaning charm on his fading tan to make himself visibly cleaner so as not to garner suspicion from the muggles around for his prolonged absences).

From Chongqing, they got another train to Urumqi in the Xinjiang province, their final destination before they were to go hiking into the wilderness to find a place for the re'em to be released. For the final four day trip, Harry ended up sat in Newt's lap wondering how the fuck he got there and _cursing_ his better nature. He had given up his seat to an elderly lady, intending to stand, only for the train to jerk violently enough that he crashed into the Hufflepuff, who was _apparently_ a lot more opportunistic than Harry had been led to believe when the man just fucking _smirked_ and tightened his grip around Harry's waist. That had been a very awkward four days, with a very amused old biddy watching them very _knowingly_ making every hair on the back of Harry's neck stand straight (though that may have something to do with the Hufflepuff _breathing_ on him too).

Thankfully Harry didn't have any troubles with train travel, it seemed as though he was only so viscerally opposed to ships, which was going to make the return trip an absolute _nightmare_.

By the time they reached Urumqi, Harry was fairly _squirming_ with the need for space. He didn't get it.

 _ **000**_

Newt had tamed enough creatures in his life to know when he was at a critical point, the very point where if he backed off he would be right back to square one. If he let Harry put enough distance between them then he would re-establish those borders that Newt had finally managed to worm his way through during that miserable ship voyage. So he stuck to the auror like glue.

The two train journeys were as much of a torture as they were a blessing.

"Right, we're going to need new clothes and some proper hiking equipment," the mythozoologist declared as they got off the train, snagging the back of Harry's shirt before he could put too much distance between them. He gave the Gryffindor a sceptical look that he _knew_ would irritate him, "You're so tiny you'd freeze to death before we reached the steppes."

The look of absolute indignity on his face would be one that Newt held close to his heart for a long time to come as he ushered the young man to the market in order to find what they needed. And if he made a point of getting him the puffiest, warmest jacket he could find, he only grinned when Harry punched him in the side (it wasn't like he could even do any damage at this point, Newt really needed to feed him up). He didn't comment when the auror swallowed his pride and bought it either.

That night they slept in a way house once more, in a large communal room with six other men on mattresses on the floor. Harry didn't sleep, too busy watching for anyone who might think that two foreigners would have made an easy mark in the dark of a foreign country.

No one tried.

 _ **000**_

They bought a pair of thick fluffy camels to ride up into the mountains, the two were as foul tempered as they came, and Harry was fairly certain they had been given to them for that specific reason. But it was no biggie. An hour after Newt got his hands on them and the two were absolutely _putty_ , even if they did have a bit of a spitting problem. In all honesty, Harry wasn't very keen on them.

"This is very different to hippogriffs," he muttered unhappily as they stopped for lunch on one of the chilled gravel trails leading between grassy desolate hills. It may have been late June, but they were rather high, and the temperature was _bitter_.

"Oh? You've ridden hippogriffs?" Newt asked in interest as he watched Harry swing off his camel and begin to massage his rear end in discomfort.

"Yeah. Only the one. Buckbeak belonged to my godfather," he admitted with a groan that his camel echoed _loudly_. "Oh really?" he asked the beast as it turned to face him and whined at him again, "You'll have to tell me all about that sometime. But for now, I'm taking a walk before my ass ends up with a permanent imprint of your spine." The camel snorted at him, "Same to you and all," the Gryffindor retorted.

Newt laughed in delight.

 _ **000**_

"And what are these fellows?" the Hufflepuff asked excitedly, they had stopped for the evening when they found themselves amongst a small herd of what was most _definitely_ magical goats. They had all the bodyshape of the muggle animal, but only the one horn, a deep shining bronze colour to match its sharp cloven hooves and almost lion-like mane.

Harry flipped through his Chinese reference text, it was a medicine book he had in his auror kit and listed dozens of magical Chinese herbal remedy recipes. He had annotated the whole thing with short-cuts, additives, anything that could prove useful.

"I _believe_ they're called _Xiezhi_. They're a species of magical goat able to divine the truth, and judge wrong-doers. Their horns are used in a lot of Chinese truth serums, and their coats are often woven into family tapestries to ensure that they display only blood family members and those they immediately marry. They're a Chinese exclusive species," the Gryffindor explained, smiling as the mythozoologist immediately went to fussing and examining the nearest creature, the goat bearing it with stoic dignity, sniffing only a little in long-suffering patience when the zoologist lifted a hind leg to see if it was male or female. Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Careful there Newt, they're a very dignified species," he warned mirthfully, even though he had a feeling that as they were so sensitive to the intentions and words of others that he would be safe as long as he meant no harm.

"And you say they can tell when someone is telling the truth?" the curly haired man asked, peering over the goat's back to grin brightly at Harry.

The Gryffindor nodded, sat crosslegged with the book in his lap, "Yes. They're known to use their horns to identify the liar, and bite the instigator of arguments."

A sly look came over the Hufflepuff's face for a moment before he wiped it away under childish enthusiasm as he leaned on the goat's back, "Really, hm? Would you mind ever so much if I tested that theory?" he asked eagerly.

Harry shrugged as he looked up from the book, "Sure."

"Are you really opposed to this marriage?"

The Gryffindor's mouth opened in shock, all mirth vanishing from his face.

The goats eerily all turned to face him in unison, which, even for Newt, that was somewhat unsettling. He watched as green eyes flickered around the clearing in alarm, and for a moment Newt wanted to tell him never mind, don't worry about it, that he was out of line for asking, but... he wanted to know. And if he had to be a little ruthless in order to do it... well, he learned that particular lesson the hard way.

"Newt, I..." he trailed off before glaring at him, "That is really unfair," he bit out, "There's no clean cut yes or no answer."

Newt tried not to scoff, he wasn't very successful, "It isn't a difficult question. Do you really hate the idea of being married to me?"

"It's not that simple!" Harry all but snarled at him, only to yelp when the Xiezhi nearest to him nipped his thigh. Newt snorted – only to receive a bite himself and swear under his breath, rubbing at his shoulder where the goat he was leaning on had whipped around and nipped him. Bronze eyes affixed him with a steady, disapproving gaze.

"Why isn't it simple, Harry?" Newt asked quietly, subdued now as he hunched in on himself. "What is so objectionable about me? About us? The ritual wouldn't have worked in the slightest if we weren't compatible. It shouldn't have worked anyway, but magic forced it through regardless. So..." he trailed off miserably.

The silence between them stretched and Newt risked looking up under his hair at the Gryffindor. He was sat stiff backed, his face set in harsh lines as he practically glared down at him. Newt wilted a little, feeling worse than he already had been. He shouldn't have said anything.

"Because I shouldn't exist. And you're supposed to marry someone else. We were never meant to meet," the auror finally told him, his voice grim.

"Shouldn't exist...?" Newt echoed, shaking his head slightly as he stared at the floor before looking up, "Shouldn't ex- Harry, why – what – _who_ on earth made you think something like _that_?" he blurted in horror.

The auror looked away, "The sky is green," he said coldly, and grunted when the goat beside him headbutted him with its horn. "Goodnight Newt," he said as he got to his feet, tucking the book under his arm.

"Harry! Harry don't just – you can't just walk away!" Newt called, scrambling to his feet and quickly catching up. He caught the auror by the arm, holding tight and pulling him to a stop, "You can't just – _why won't you talk to me?_ " he pleaded desperately. Harry remained stubbornly silent, refusing to look at him. "You can't just say something like that and walk away! And who are you to say who I'm supposed to be marrying?" he exclaimed, giving the arm in his grasp a short shake. "At least _say_ something!"

"I've said all that I'm going to," he stated flatly.

"Then listen." Newt pulled until they were face to face, the Gryffindor glaring challenging up at him, jaw jutting out defiantly. For a moment, he couldn't help but think of Charlus, that look he had on his face when Theseus shouted at him for following after them into that recruitment office. Charlus was never supposed to join the war, he wasn't supposed to _follow_ them. But he did anyway. And it was that look on Harry's face, the way he lifted his chin and stared at him that suddenly reminded Newt of the one fight he'd ever seen his brother lose.

"Just listen," he pleaded gently, "You _are_ here. You're exactly where you're supposed to be. Everything happens for a reason, otherwise Divination wouldn't be a field of study at Hogwarts," he joked, quirking a smile, but Harry's face may as well have been ice, Newt's smile fell. "I don't know why you came into my life, but you're here now. If we weren't supposed to be together, the marriage ritual wouldn't have worked, we wouldn't have chosen each other. I don't know what's holding you back, or who's hurt you – "

Harry made a furious noise in the back of his throat, "No one has hurt me!" he snapped, and yelped as he lurched forward, one of the goats having rammed him from behind. He shoved himself away from the Hufflepuff with a furious snarl, "No one has hurt me in the way you're thinking," he corrected himself with a glare at the goats around him. "Why can't you accept that I just – don't want this? Would you knock it off!" he bellowed as he danced out of the way of another headbutt.

Newt folded his arms, confused, a little offended, but also relieved.

Harry seemed to realise he'd been caught in his lie, and glared at him. "Stop smirking. It still doesn't change the fact that we _can't_ be together."

This time Newt growled in frustration, and judging by the way the auror blinked, it was a decidedly inhuman sound. "And why not? Will you at least just _tell_ me?"

Harry seemed to be having some kind of internal battle, his expression almost pained as he shuffled in place.

Newt stepped forward, reaching out, "Please just tell me..."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he cupped the side of his face, gritting his teeth as he practically danced in place.

"I can't. I'm sorry," he grit out as he brushed past him, walking away from the camp entirely, and Newt stood woodenly behind him.

 _ **000**_

He had to leave.

He couldn't – he couldn't risk it anymore. He was getting too close, and it was getting harder and harder to turn away, and he just _couldn't stay_.

Harry came to a stop at the top of a hill, arms wrapped around himself as he took a deep breath of frigid cold air. He stared down at the gravel cattle-path that they had been following for the last few days, spotting the exact point where it split from the well travelled muggle path. This one was only visible for magical users. At the time they hadn't known it, just seen a path through a set of rocks that seemed to lead to a more untamed area and taken it, now from the otherside, Harry could see the ward stones that obscured the path from muggle gazes.

He would wait until Newt was asleep before going and collecting his belongings. He would... leave enough money to reimburse him for the supplies he took. And then... Well, he had his broom... He could probably fly anywhere in the world on a Firebolt. Find somewhere quiet in the middle of nowhere. Become a hermit like he joked. It... would be lonely, but it was a small price to pay.

He had messed this up too much already. He couldn't risk destroying the timeline. He just couldn't.

He was back far enough that any changes he made could ripple back and _completely_ destroy his own timeline rather than just rebound back and destroy him. Terrible things happened to wizards who messed with time, and however unknowingly, or purposelessly that Harry had, he was still a risk. He could still potentially kill everyone he had ever known or loved.

He should have done it as soon as he sorted that runespoor out. No, even before then. He should have just left the whole of the Hamare well enough alone, refused to help them. He should have just stayed under his rock.

There was still a chance though, that he hadn't completely fucked this up.

He would... have to memory charm Newt though.

Erase himself completely from the man's memories, make it so they'd never met, that way he could go on his way, and meet his wife. They would fall in love, and get married, and have their kids, who would have their kids. And Harry would be sat at their wedding fielding questions about snakes, and thestrals, and dementors with a man who probably knew more about them in his pinkie than Harry had in his whole life. And it would be _fine_. And he would have Teddy, and eventually he would find someone he could love and settle down with himself, maybe he would get back together with Ginny, or – he didn't know. But it would be better.

Wouldn't it?

 _ **000**_

Newt didn't sleep. Couldn't sleep.

He lay in his bedroll, facing away from the campfire, and he heard Harry come back. Heard him begin to pack his things up. He was quiet, of course he was. It was in his nature to be as silent as possible, to not disturb other people, to keep to himself, to _avoid_. So Newt remained stonily silent in return, wondering if he was really going to just up and leave in the dead of night without so much as a word.

Then he heard footsteps coming towards him, and the sound of a wand being drawn.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the hard clench in his chest.

But nothing happened.

The silence stretched, and eventually Newt opened his eyes, and still nothing happened.

Harry sighed deeply, and Newt heard a soft crunch of gravel and a thump as the auror sat down heavily.

" _What the hell are you doing, Potter?_ " he whispered to himself.

Newt sat up, unnoticed. Harry had his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees as he slumped on the floor beside him. The very picture of defeat.

The Hufflepuff reached out, and dragged him into a hug, a startled breath being the only reaction until he tilted his head, and kissed him.

Harry twitched backwards, but Newt wasn't about to let go of him now as he gripped the back of his head and pressed their mouths a little more insistently together. He wasn't skilled at kissing. Had done very little of it, in all honesty. A few shy pecks with Leta in his final year, the muggle girls he had brief dalliances with while on leave in the war, the vague shadow of a memory the night they bonded, though that was less a kiss and more of a claiming. But it was easy, natural even to kiss Harry. They're sat awkwardly, Newt on his knees kneeling half behind him, Harry in his bottom wearing his backpack and twisted to face him. But none of it registered as Newt kissed him again, and again, cupping his cheek to stop him from moving away as he teased the Gryffindor's lips apart and stole wet open mouthed kisses that left them both breathless.

It was when Harry started leaning into him, that Newt stopped, pulling back and cupping his face in both hands.

"It doesn't matter where you go, Harry, I'll always come looking for you," he said softly, "Hufflepuff are loyal to a fault. So I'm sorry to say, you're stuck with me," he said before leaning forward and stealing another kiss.

 _ **0000**_

 **Yes, I know, a little shorter than usual. But Newt literally picked up my Xiezhi scene and jumped off the goddamn drama-cliff with it, leaving me sat there with a bunch of goats going "But... fluff?". Still. I can't complain even though I've been TRYING so hard to hold this scene off to make sure the pairing feels like its come together naturally instead of being slapped in everyone's faces.**


	10. Chapter 10

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Ten**

He wasn't able to sneak away again. Harry woke up in Newt's bedroll, half pinned under the still sleeping man that morning. They were both clothed, it being far too cold to get undressed even when in bed. Newt had fairly kissed him into submission the night before, managing to coax him out of his backpack and coat, and into his bedroll without Harry even able to muster up the energy to resist. They didn't do anything, something for which Harry could only be grateful as he blinked up at the misty sky above him.

Attempting to slip away in the early hours of the morning was impossible as well. As soon as Harry worked up the determination to continue with his original plan of action, to slip away and go into hiding, as soon as he moved, shifting ever so carefully in order to eel out of the Hufflepuff's clinging grasp, Newt was awake, and firmly pulling him back, not about to let him escape in the slightest, or forget what was said the previous evening.

And the worst part was that he was so fucking _gentle_ about it. And Harry didn't know how to handle that. Part of him wanted to get away, bolt for the hills without looking back; the other part didn't know what it wanted, but it didn't want to leave.

It took Harry's stomach growling _very_ loudly before the Hufflepuff let him out of arms reach, but even then he watched him like a hawk as he rummaged his travelling kettle out of his backpack and began to make the both of them a cup of tea. Harry just huddled in their blankets, miserable, confused, and trying to adjust to this new change.

He – didn't know what to do anymore.

 _ **000**_

Harry had been quiet and subdued all day.

It made Newt feel absolutely wretched to think that he was responsible for it. After managing to get a cup of tea into the auror, he had begun to make up some breakfast for them out of the trail rations he had stored, porridge to warm them up, and a few fruits to give it flavour.

He was almost tempted to make Harry ride with him on his camel, just to keep him close, but the way the Gryffindor shied away from him had the thought dying before he gave it more than cursory consideration. He knew from experience that if you wanted anything from a Gryffindor when they were being stubborn you had to push for it, that it wasn't so much respect you needed, but rather the proof you weren't going to take no for an answer, that you would try come hell or high water. Hufflepuffs gave their trust easily, and once you had their loyalty they stuck with you thick or thin. Gryffindors... You had to _earn_ their loyalty. Newt knew that, but he also knew that the loyalty of a Gryffindor was even more ferocious than their House Mascot. He had seen Charlus, heavily wounded, rip apart a cadre of Dark Wizards when Theseus went down, and the Potter stepped in front of him – he hadn't supposed to see it, he'd gone nosing in his brother's room when he noticed him behaving strangely, and found his Penseive. Newt hadn't known that Theseus had his own demons from the Great War.

But he worried. Had he pushed too hard in the wrong way with Harry? He was in some ways a quintessential Gryffindor, in others, he reminded Newt almost of a Slytherin in the way he would just roll with the punches and adjust himself, to adapt. A Gryffindor would rail, shout, and fight against poor circumstances, a Slytherin took what was handed to them and made the best of what they had.

He didn't know what to do.

Dragging a hand through his damp hair, Newt glanced over his shoulder to where the Gryffindor was trailing behind him on his camel, once again bundled up in his thick puffy jacket. They were getting higher on the plains now, the mist was heavier than ever, more akin to actual clouds, and just as wet. The world was curiously muffled, and eerily silent with only the sounds of their mount's hoof falls crunching on the stony path.

Newt sighed, he couldn't exactly back-peddle now, he knew that much. If he did, that would be it, door closed, no chance. He would tone down the aggression, but he definitely wasn't going to stop. He liked kissing Harry, liked touching him, and hugging him. Didn't want to stop really.

Harry just... Newt wasn't stupid, or deaf. None of those xiezhi had attacked the auror when he said he shouldn't exist, that they were never supposed to meet. Then there was what he said before Newt kissed him. He called himself ' _Potter_ ', not Peverell. He had given Newt a fake name? Why? Well, he could guess, but if he'd lied about his name, what else had he lied about? Clearly this _wasn't_ some kind of ploy to get at his brother, or really anything to even do with Newt if the fact they weren't supposed to have met was any indication. But, just what was Harry running from if he ' _wasn't supposed to exist_ '? Not supposed to exist, Potter... Was... Was he Harold's _bastard_? Harry was too old to be from Charlus, but Harold was well into his fifties and already had a son, Fleamont. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Harold had not married out of love, very few people did, love came later after years of marriage and friendship. A marriage that would have been ruined if a bastard had been discovered. Did that mean Peverell was his mother's name? But... If he had gone by Peverell for most of his life, why would he unconsciously use ' _Potter_ ' in private when chastising himself? Or did he go by Potter personally but use Peverell to avoid discovery, and thus shame?

It would make sense... If that were the truth...

But Newt didn't think it was. Harold was a stern man, but he was NOT heartless. If he had fathered a bastard, then he would do the right thing by the child and adopt it into the family, no matter what his wife had to say on the matter. A child was a gift, and the Potters adhered to that belief with both hands. Harry being a bastard was a _possibility_ , but an unlikely one.

Newt nibbled his bottom lip as they trundled between two grassy hills slick with misty dew. There was a crescent cut into one of the hills, a neat almost bite out of the grass that was slightly raised between two sets of stone pillars covered in bird etchings. It made too good of a campsite to be ignored, especially with this mist, Newt wasn't too keen on continuing just in case they ended up lost, or worse, going off a cliff by accident.

As for Harry... He glanced over his shoulder as the young man slid from his mount's shoulder. He was just going to have to keep doing what he was doing. He'd gotten through to him, a little.

Baby steps, Newt, baby steps.

Just like when he tamed that feral crup as a child. One step at a time.

 _ **000**_

Harry slept on the otherside of the camels to Newt, quite stubbornly so. In retaliation, Newt kept the bags on his side, just in case. Harry let him. He'd been thinking hard the whole ride up the mountain, he wasn't going to need his bag. He waited until he was certain Newt was sleeping before getting up. He wasn't even surprised that his shoes had been stolen, he left them, and his coat.

Even though he still had his auror robe on, it was _freezing_ in the cold black of night. The mist had finally drifted away leaving nothing but frigid open skies carpeted by jewel-like stars.

Harry had never seen so many of them before in his life as he slowly climbed the mountain on his own.

He'd seen it the day before, seen the way the path curved up towards it. At the time he'd made a mental note of it because it would have been dangerous, now he made his way there for that very reason.

He couldn't continue like this. He really, honestly, couldn't. He shouldn't have even tried to begin with, that was his first mistake. Still, he hadn't completely ruined things, not yet. There was still a chance, slim as it was, for him to fix this _whole_ thing. As last night had proven, Harry did not have the will to memory charm someone he actually cared about, he wasn't strong like Hermione. He couldn't do that. He tried, but the words just wouldn't come. They sat heavy and bitter on his tongue, until he gave up. And the Hufflepuff pounced. Harry flushed, his cheeks stinging painfully in the cold. Where the hell did he learn to kiss like that? For someone who had supposedly never been with anyone before his wife got her claws into him, he was annoyingly _good_ at kissing. And since Harry could not remove Newt's memory of him, and the Hufflepuff wasn't exactly willing to let Harry remove himself from his presence, this was the only avenue left that he could think of.

Harry sighed deeply, rubbing his arms as he came to a stop, and peered down.

He couldn't actually see the bottom in the dark, which he supposed was good. Given the terrain, it would likely be sharp rocks. So it wouldn't take long.

He wasn't supposed to exist here, so the simple answer would be to remove his existence. It wasn't like he feared death or anything, it was just the next step. And, hell, no one would actually miss him, would they?

Newt would be upset, but, it had been three months since they first met, a month and a half of which was spent nursing him while he vomited all over the man's shoes. He would get over it.

Harry chuckled under his breath, he would probably be glad to see the back of him once he'd finished whatever mourning period he thought was appropriate. Harry hadn't exactly been the easiest of people to travel or get along with in all honesty, too modern, too jagged from the war with Voldemort, too secretive and damaged. It really was for the best that he left the man to his travelling. Hell, if Harry got lucky, his body would never be found and Newt would think he'd just run off, and spend his time being angry instead of upset. That'd actually work out better. That was probably what happened, thinking about it. Newt hadn't shown any sign of recognition at Luna's wedding, hadn't acted strangely, nor angry. He was quite clearly in love with his wife, who loved him also. So Harry was fairly certain his plan would work.

He ran a hand through his hair, idly wondering who would be waiting for him this time. It wasn't like he actually knew anyone from this timeline. All the people he cared about were alive, or hadn't even been born yet.

He smiled, he would just have to be the one to meet them when they died then. He would be able to reassure his parents that he grew up okay, that he loved them. Apologise to Sirius for getting him killed, and then tell him all about how Molly kicked Bellatrix's ass up and down the Great Hall, tell Remus and Tonks all about Teddy and what a bundle of energy he was. Assure Fred that the jokeshop was going well, and that George got better even though he was never quite the same. High-five Lavender for blasting Fenrir Greyback into paste in her final moments. Thump Colin for being such an idiot, before hugging the stuffing out of him, the stupid self-sacrifical boy. Dobby, Merlin, he would be able to apologise to Dobby, and Hedwig, his beautiful Hedwig. It would be nice to see her again.

He took a step back, and then jumped -

" _ACCIO!_ "

Harry wheezed as the summoning charm yanked him backwards in mid-air.

He had a split second to feel an arm go around him before it _slammed_ him into the gravel path, hard enough to wind him.

"WHAT IN BLUE BLAZES DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Newt roared pinning him down, angrier than Harry had ever seen him. Angrier, and _terrified_. He was shaking violently straddling Harry's stomach, both hands fisted in the collar of his robes. "WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME SEIZED YOU TO THROW YOURSELF OFF A CLIFF?! WERE YOU TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF?! WELL?! _**ANSWER ME!**_ "

Harry wheezed, winded, struggling to drag some air in as Newt shook him hard enough to bang his head off the stone path.

"JUST WHAT IS KILLING YOURSELF GOING TO ACCOMPLISH?! IS MY PRESENCE SO CONTEMPTABLE THAT THIS IS WHAT YOU'VE BEEN DRIVEN TO?! SAY SOMETHING, DAMN YOU!"

His head bounced off a particularly sharp rock making him yelp in pain, and the next thing Harry knew he was being kissed within an inch of his life. There was nothing gentle or coaxing about it this time. He squirmed and tried to push away, only for the Hufflepuff to _snarl_ at him, and bite down on his lip, fingers knotting in his hair and _pulling_. Harry tilted his head with a hiss of pain that turned into a gasped squawk when the Hufflepuff abandoned his mouth to bite down on his neck. He was not gentle. And Harry went still, fingers flexing spasmodically on the stone path, bare-feet digging into the mud as he fought every instinct he had to attack and shove the mythozoologist off him. He grit his teeth, and squeezed his eyes shut as Newt's teeth dug down a little harder making it difficult to breathe.

The teeth let go, and Harry breathed shakily as kisses peppered his throat, and the grip on his hair loosened.

Newt buried his face into the crook of his neck, and Harry could feel something wet on his skin that definitely wasn't saliva. "What were you thinking? Why?" he asked hoarsely, voice breaking as Harry huffed shaky breaths beneath him. "What did I do wrong?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut at the broken tremulous question.

"Nothing," he rasped, "You've done _nothing_ wrong, I promise," he choked out, one hand coming up to cradle the back of the Hufflepuff's head. "I just couldn't... risk destroying everything... I'm sorry, it really isn't you, I promise," he vowed, leaning his head to one side, pressing it against Newt's curly hair tightly.

His other hand dug into his pocket.

The Hufflepuff sat up, angry again, "Then what – " he fell silent as Harry held his auror I.D. out to him.

 _ **000**_

 **Name:** _Harry James Potter_ **  
Office:** _Auror_ **  
Department:** _Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ **  
No:** _01876_ **  
Date of Issue:** _30/09/1997_

 **Date of Birth:** _31/07/1980_ **  
Sex:** _Male_ **  
Eyes:** _Green_ **  
Hair:** _Black_ **  
Height:** _5'3"_ **  
Blood status:** _Pureblood_ **  
House:** _Gryffindor_ **  
Distinguishing Marks:** _Lightning bolt scarx2 (forehead, chest), scarring-multiple ( , oval beneath collar bones, elbow-wrist, 'I must not tell lies' back of , multiple , circular )_ **  
Wand Core:** _Phoenix feather_ **  
Wand Length:** _11"_ **  
Wand Wood:** _Holly_ **  
** _This is to certify that the holder of this permit is authorised for multiple wand usage and carry._

 **Address:** _Smallest room, second floor, 93 Diagon Alley, London, England._

Newt stared at the small magically reinforced I.D. card, at the image of Harry in his official auror uniform, glasses that Newt had never once seen him wear perched on his nose, several pips in his collar indicating that he was a top auror, _The_ top auror, Captain, next in line to be Head of the Department.

He looked _young_ in the picture. Young like he had when he first met him.

Newt stared down at the man under him in confusion. Despite the darkness, it was easy to see the differences. Harry looked _tired_ , he looked _defeated_. And now Newt knew why. Staring him clear in the face, in black and white.

"Nineteen eighty," he echoed dully.

Harry nodded silently as he slowly pushed himself back, and then up. Newt shifting only a little as he ended up sat in the auror's lap, hand strangely steady on the little card in his hand even though it felt like the bottom of the world had just been torn out from beneath him. Everything he thought he knew about this man was... wrong. So wrong.

"When you said you weren't supposed to exist..." he croaked.

Harry nodded again, "Not for another fifty-five years, at least," he agreed slowly. "I met you, before," he admitted quietly, making Newt pause, "Your grandson's wedding. He was getting married to my bestfriend. You cornered me at the drinks table at the reception to ask me about being a Parselmouth. You asked exactly the same questions your grandson did the first time he met me. Your wife and I ended up making friends at the next gathering. I didn't realise who you were when we first met. If I'd known..." he trailed off, his expression conflicted and Newt felt a cold hand grip his insides as it really began to hit home just what Harry had been struggling with over the last couple of weeks. Why he had been so stubborn in holding him at arms-length.

The Gryffindor shrugged then, "That's why I have to do this. I'm far back enough that any changes I make could ripple and completely _destroy_ everything I've ever fought for, everyone I've ever loved. And I can't risk that, Newt. I can't." He smiled softly at him even as he managed to pull himself out from under the Hufflepuff completely, and get to his feet, "It's not like I'm scared of dying. Done it before. It's just like catching a train," he said easily and Newt wanted to throw up.

"You – "

Harry leaned down, cradling his head in one arm, and kissed his temple, "Do you want me to memory charm you? I can make it so we never even met, if you want," he offered kindly.

Newt inhaled sharply, and grabbed his arm, shaking his head. "No, Harry – you can't! You – no, no no no! No! How can you be so happy – no! You can't! You're not just going to – this isn't like going on holiday!" he protested desperately, scrambling to his feet, gripping the Gryffindor's shoulders and shaking him a little, not even caring as his eyes began to burn again.

"Please just – just – don't, don't jump, please," he begged, banding his arms around the Gryffindor tightly, breath stuttering in his chest as his heart lodged itself firmly in his throat. "There has to be another way, there has to. Don't – please don't – I don't think I could – I wouldn't be able to forgive myself," he whispered.

He heard Harry sigh, and felt the awkward but gentle pat on his back, "You will. It worked out alright in the end. You didn't even – well, you certainly didn't recognise me at the wedding. I really do think it's for the best if I memory charm you."

Newt shook his head, tightening his grip. "No. I don't – I don't _want_ to forget you. I – I'll make you a deal," he said suddenly, drawing back and staring Harry dead in the eye, "We carry on, what happens, happens. It doesn't have to last forever. And, if I meet this woman I'm supposed to marry, then if I'm really supposed to fall in love and marry her, then I will. Right? I'll do it willingly, unlike what we were forced into. If that's really my future, then I'll definitely choose her over you, right? So, until then... please... don't... Just please," he begged, his voice breaking as he bowed his head, resting it on Harry's chest, eyes squeezing shut.

Please, _please_ let him listen.

Let him live.

Newt would worry about filling in the gaps in his education about magical marriage ceremonies later, but _please_ , by all the Spirits and Powers that Be, _let him live_.

Harry sighed, "Alright."

 _ **000**_

Looking back, Harry realised that he had, once again, been railroaded from a perfectly viable course of action. A course of action he would have _very_ little chance of attempting again if the fact that Newt had become thirty times clingier than before was any indication. Harry hadn't thought the Hufflepuff would be too cut up over his death, apparently he had thought wrong if the desperate way the man clung to him in the following days was any indication.

Forget sleeping in his own bedroll, Harry was lucky if he got away with bathing on his own after his attempt at cliff-diving. The fact that he had revealed he was from the future hadn't seemed to have really sunk in yet. That, or the man was aggressively ignoring it in favour of making sure Harry didn't leave his immediate arms reach – they now shared a camel as well as a bedroll, and Harry had given up trying to argue with every damp expression of betrayal he was treated to for trying to put some distance between them.

Of course, with the drop in temperature, Harry wasn't even upset about the change in sleeping arrangements, he was _freezing_ and Newt had a freakishly high body temperature. One that he didn't mind sharing with Harry which was even better. It must have been a thing to do with working with dragons, Charlie was freakishly warm to the touch too – Ginny gloried in being his favourite sister (only sister), and snuggling with him under Molly's various patchwork quilts at Christmas, stealing all of his warmth.

They finally crested the hills, and below them the world swept away into gentle plains of golden coloured grasses, distant birds on the blue horizon, and discernible to no eyes but Harry's, golden flecks moving amidst the yellow grasses. A re'em herd in the distance.

"Here," Harry called, swinging off their camel, patting the braying animal absently as Newt slithered down beside him.

"Here?" the mythozoologist echoed curiously.

"Yep. There's a re'em herd just over yonder. This is probably the best place to release him. If he takes to the herd, then he'll join them. If not, then he can move on to a different herd, or follow behind this one until they accept him," Harry explained as he scrambled for the suitcase on the back of Newt's camel – the other one having all of their supplies.

The re'em in the case that they had rescued was a huge specimen, Harry had never seen them in the wild but he fancied that their boy was probably a bit bigger than the norm. Well fed, and healthier than most as well. Newt really knew his stuff when it came to creature care, and this fellow had been at their mercy for two months now. He was more than ready to go and sniff out some female company.

As evidenced by the way he nearly steam-rolled over Harry in his haste to approach the herd in the distance.

Newt scrambled for his binoculars, and notebook, Harry sat back against their resting camels as Newt went to work documenting the reintroduction of a rare magical creature, and its mating habits as the re'em in question battled for dominance against the current herd bull, and won. Harry hummed, breaking off a little of his oat-bar to share with his camel as Newt began to make excited noises, one hand writing in his notebook – his handwriting was lopsided and awful, Harry noted with amusement – while the other held the binoculars up to his face.

It was, perhaps, the first time since the cliff incident that Harry had the opportunity to sneak away.

He stretched out, rummaging a blanket from their packs, and took a nap instead.

 _ **0000**_

 **OTL;; omg this chapter.**

 **Well, I finally got it finished. And I finally revealed the timetravel thing. This isn't the end of it, absolutely not. Newt's just found a patch and slapped it over the problem for now.**


	11. Chapter 11

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Eleven**

They followed the herd of re'em for the next two weeks, trailing down the plains of the valley and towards a rockier forested area. They observed the herd doing everything from repelling predators, dealing with sickness, a death, one of the female even gave birth. It was a busy week, and Newt had been glued to his binoculars the whole time. The re'em were a fascinating species, they lived almost like lions with the one dominant male, a harem of females, though they seemingly had no issue with engaging in sexual activities with lesser males still present within the herd. One of the first matings that he witnessed was Edward, their rescue, mounting the defeated former head of the herd, a kind of display of sexual dominance that was then repeated across _all_ of the herd's adult males. The only exception being the eldest of the males, a re'em so advanced in years he was more silver than gold. The females were inspected carefully before only the healthiest, non-pregnant of them were bred. Those females who were already pregnant were gently nosed and rubbed against, but not mounted. The young calves were similarly nudged and carefully rubbed against, and Newt could only theorise that, much like cats, re'em scent marked their herd members. 

They were a remarkably social animal, the former head of the herd had comfortably settled back into a lesser position without issue, and the elderly silver male seemed to possess an almost 'advisory' role within the herd. It was the silver male who often lead them, migrating the herd with the wind almost. Travelling down from the top of the plains to the very bottom before beginning to travel towards the north. Newt could probably follow, and observe them for another year and only begin to scratch the surface of their social structure, but he had a lot of China to explore, and a book he needed to publish by the end of next year. He needed to observe and document more species, and as much as he would miss Edward, it was time to move on. 

Trekking into the forest was a chilly and wet experience, but it got warmer the further in they went. Not warm enough to shed their coats, but enough that Harry's fingers and nose weren't cherry red and painful from cold in the evenings.

Things between them had... Improved, a bit. Newt still watched him like a hawk, still got twitchy and anxious when the man was out of sight, but it had calmed down somewhat from the terrifying night when he got up to empty his bladder and saw him stood at the end of a cliff in the distance, peering down the drop with a very considering look on his face.

Newt was going to have nightmares of that night for a long time to come, and it was only the fact that whenever he jarred awake – not fast enough, not strong enough, seconds too late, didn't have his wand, Harry was too far ahead, didn't notice, didn't _see_ , found him in the morning – Harry was right there, tucked under his chin that stopped the panic from getting too bad. All he had to do was squeeze a little tighter, and burrow in a little closer, and he could sleep again.

 _ **000**_

Baby demiguise were cute, Harry decided from where he was perched in the high-branches of a tree, Newt next to him watching the small family through his binoculars. They had found the tracks in some fresh mud a few days ago, and it had taken them nearly this long to find the small family unit, the gentle herbivores were visible for once, tucking into fresh green shoots, half-ripened fruit still on the tree. The young were very small indeed, and those that were old enough to be left unattended by their mothers for even a few moments were busy wrestling and squeaking at one another, flickering in and out of visibility as they squabbled.

Harry had always been curious about how demiguise looked ever since he read that invisibility cloaks could be made out of their fur. He had wondered how it could have the same consistency as his cloak, only to later learn that his cloak was made differently, and than true invisibility cloaks felt more like raw silk than the liquid coolness of the hallow he possessed.

But still, baby demiguise did very little to alleviate his boredom.

Newt was utterly absorbed and enchanted with his work, good for him, but it didn't change the fact that Harry was _very_ much a Gryffindor, and thus easily bored, and very restless. He had already reorganised his potions kit, restocked it as much as he could from general ingredients near-by (and if he confiscated a great deal of ingredients from the poachers they ran into, well at least they would be put to better use than whatever those bastards sold it for), he had repaired his auror uniform, all the rest of their belongings, he had even spent several hours in the suitcase improving Newt's shed, and even cleaned up inside. The Hufflepuff had been torn between indignant that Harry had moved things, and grateful that he'd actually organised it. Eventually he settled on gratitude, and then later excited happiness when he realised how much _easier_ it now was to find all the various little things he actually needed now that they had specific places for it. Of course he had to ask Harry where it all was at first, but when he got the hang of it, all Harry had to do then was maintain it, and everyone was happy.

Except for right now, because Harry was bored to tears, and demiguise were not the most exciting of creatures.

So, for lack of anything to do, he found a stick. More of a branch really, a nice sturdy one.

And then he stripped it of its twigs, straightened it, peeled away all the bark until he was left with a pale unvarnished length of wood in his hands, still a little sticky from the sap oozing between the pale fibres. He had always been curious about broomstick manufacture, after Professor Flitwick stripped it in his third year, the firebolt had been a reliable and informative companion. Harry had quite easily been able to remove the copywrite charms on it, and begin to examine just how interwoven the assorted charms and even _hexes_ that went into the construction of such a magical object.

So, while Newt noted down the dietary habits of magical creatures, Harry began to cast spells on his stick to see if he could make a firebolt 2.0, or explode.

 _ **000**_

Every now and again, Newt would catch sight of the bruises he left on Harry's neck, and his stomach would flip and tighten with a mixture of shame and _satisfaction_. They were mostly healed now, but in the first few days, he could see Harry wince whenever he ate or drank anything, and as guilty as he felt about that, another part of him thought it served the Gryffindor right. Perhaps now he would think twice before he did something as stupid as trying to _throw himself off a cliff_.

Not even timetravelling was a good enough justification in his mind to allow for that kind of – just what did he think that would _solve_? They were already married. Magic found them a match, and bonded them. If Harry killed himself then... Newt didn't think he would ever recover from that, especially since he wouldn't have known _why_. It would have been like Leta all over again, but a thousand times worse because it really would have been his fault! That he was – that were was something so horribly wrong, that he was so pathetic, and awful, that even his own magically bound husband would have rather died than deal with him and, Newt felt ill all over again thinking about what might have happened, what his future may look like if he had been even five minutes later. If he hadn't needed to use the little wizard's room at that exact moment...

He glanced away from his sketches of the infant demiguise to where Harry was sat cross legged beside him, tongue poking out just a little bit as he focused intently on the burgeoning broomstick in his lap. The Gryffindor had picked the branch up only a few days ago, and been working on it ever since, weaving charm after charm into the very fibre of the wood with such dexterity that Newt was almost as fascinated by the spell work as he was by the man himself.

Every time he saw that tongue poking out -

He leaned over, catching Harry's chin in one hand, and stole a kiss, the former auror too distracted to really do much more than kiss him back briefly before focusing once again on the broom.

And yes, Newt had tried to turn his attention away from the broom before, but that had resulted in a minor spell-cascade that nearly exploded in their faces, and the auror had to shove him off and very quickly unravel a few charms before the broom stopped smoking ominously. Newt learned from that point on not to try to distract someone while they were neck deep in complex spell weaving.

Still, he smiled a little to himself as he returned to his sketches, it was one of the few times the auror would kiss him back, so Newt didn't mind too much.

 _ **000**_

The spell developers for the Firebolt series were _geniuses_.

They possibly also had a great many more centuries of research, experience, and examples than Harry did but he still found himself in awe of the developers for creating such a fantastic all-round broom. He had given up with continuing his own spell casting efforts, he was fairly sure he had gone wrong _somewhere_ , that or the wood he was using had reached its saturation point and couldn't accept any more magic. Either way, Harry went back to the drawing board as it were, and stole one of Newt's empty books to take detailed notes of the spells on the Firebolt.

Given his predisposition for the Seeker role, Harry planned to remove a great many of the charms present on the Firebolt, and apply only those relevant to his new broom. Possibly figure out ways of increasing the sensitivity or capabilities of it within those remaining parameters.

It was something for him to chew on as he trailed after Newt through the Chinese wilderness, scribbling furiously in his book, only peripherally aware whenever they had to stop for whatever reason. He had stopped paying attention in all honesty, far too absorbed in what he was doing, a fatal flaw of his in all honesty. Once he got stuck into his paperwork, or whatever spell-crafting, or invention he was working on, he had a very bad habit of tuning everything out. Tunnel vision to Ravenclaw degrees, George called it once. He skipped meals, forgot to bathe, didn't sleep, etc. And trying to jar him out of it just left him waspish and unpleasant to deal with for the rest of the day. Molly and Ginny had taken to making sure he ate just by leaving a dish or something next to his elbow, he usually chowed down on whatever it was as he worked. George left things for him to eat too. Cheeky bastard. More than a few official reports had been handed in with yellow canary feathers stuck in the ink.

So in truth, the latest escapade could in fact be called his fault.

By now he had learned better than to let Newt cook anything that wasn't porridge, or tea.

Unfortunately, with most of his attention occupied, Harry was rarely able to cook food at anything approaching a reasonable time (there had been one incident where he quite out of the blue decided to make a stew in the early hours of the morning without realising that it was somewhat closer to five o'clock than his previously thought of nine at night. Newt had still appreciated the hot stew when he woke up the next morning), leaving Newt to fend for himself. And the Hufflepuff had been watching Harry cook for a while now, and thought he had cracked at least the methodology behind stew.

He gathered fresh vegetables from the surroundings, using the summoning charm, and what he knew of tracking to identify where the herbivores mostly found their food. He summoned non-magical animals to go in the pot, and even managed to find a few herbs to add to the flavour of the stew. It all went into his old cauldron, including the _huge_ radish specimen he found in a bog, it came whizzing into his hands with a summoning charm and nearly bowled him over it was so big. About the length of his forearm and a little thicker at its widest point, pure white once rinsed with a quick _aquamenti_. He still had over half of it, he planned to add it to the animal feed the next time the herbivores were due to eat.

He thought he did alright, given how it was the first time he'd made a stew on his own. It certainly tasted decent enough. Could have done with some salt though.

Harry didn't seem to have a problem with it, one hand working a spoon while his other wrote in his book. He hadn't spat it out or anything, nor even grimaced when he started eating. So Newt would have called that a success.

Unbeknownst to him, Harry could have been eating cat food and not noticed (another one of George's pranks, one that backfired on him because _he_ ended up being freaked out more than Harry). He did however notice when he started getting _overly warm_ , and a little sensitive. He shifted uncomfortably as he unbuttoned his shirt collar, tugging at it a little in order to get some air, only to wince when it felt like sandpaper had just been dragged across his nipples.

God he was hot.

He hissed under his breath, moving carefully as he shrugged out of his overlarge coat. His face was _burning_ , and it felt like his chest was on fire – to say nothing of other areas. He had a... problem downstairs that was making his trousers uncomfortable, and an ache set inside of him that was getting _itchy_.

Okay, no, he couldn't work like this.

He was all but panting, and _merlin_ , it was actually _painful_ now.

Ten minutes uninterrupted in the bathroom to either get rid of this the old fashioned way, or a cold shower would hopefully do the trick. _Make that twenty minutes, shit_.

He curled in on himself, unable to stop the high pitched whine that wheezed out of him as he cupped himself. This was worse than that time Seamus tricked him into eating Viagra back in forth year. He wanted – no, he _needed_ work this off. He was _dizzy_ with the need to – god, what had been in that _stew_?

Harry whimpered as he forced himself to uncurl, and push himself up to his hands and knees, panting hard as he peered blearily through sweaty dark hair. Newt was in a similar state. He was head down on the ground, hisses and snarls of pain managing to squeeze out from gritted teeth as one hand clawed at the earth, and the other clasped himself tightly. He was red right up to the tips of his ears, down to beneath his shirt collar, and Harry didn't doubt he was feeling _just_ as desperate and uncomfortable as Harry himself.

Fuck, fuck – _fuck that was a good idea_ –

No! As great an idea as that was, Harry refused! Absolutely not!

He shuddered violently as he drew his wand, " _P-petrificus To-talis_ ," he gasped, shuddering as he pointed jerkily at the mythozoologist, watching as his body snapped straight, arms at his sides, legs locked straight, face down on the ground. Fuck, should have – whatever, he was going to suffocate in dirt if Harry didn't move him.

He flipped the man over with a shaky charm, and had to stop and shake his head violently as the heat ratcheted up another notch – he could feel the Hufflepuff straining against the spell already. Harry cast a quick levitation on him even as he tried to struggle to his feet, he ended up actually using the man as a crutch and, surely he wouldn't mind? He had been so determined to get into Harry trousers for the last few _months_ _that surely he wouldn't mind if Harry just -_

The Gryffindor punched himself in the leg hard enough to send him right back down to the floor with a sharp scream.

"Mother _FUCKER!_ "

He cursed violently, eyes burning as his leg throbbed. But, oh, clarity.

He struggled to his feet once again, feeling the Hufflepuff practically thrashing in the grips of his spell, but unable to twitch so much as a finger even as his muscles practically vibrated under his clothing with pent-up energy. Harry probably wasn't helping him in the slightest touching him, but he had probably damaged his leg muscle somewhat severely with that hit, and he needed the support as he carefully made his way to the suitcase.

Whatever clarity the pain brought, it was steadily being swallowed by the heat, and Harry felt itchy, sick, hot, and _needy_ as he half-fell, half slid down into the suitcase, and levitated Newt in after him. His vision was getting blurry again, and his knees were threatening to give out now. He was practically using the Hufflepuff as a zimmer-frame as he got them both into the bathroom and spelled the tub full of icy water.

The bathroom was a japanese inspired thing, apparently modelled on the Hufflepuff dormitory showers in Hogwarts, so while there were nice and deep baths that one could sit up in, there were also showers. It was into the bath tub that Harry dropped Newt, the cold water quickly soaking through what clothes he hadn't managed to claw off himself, and bringing some desperately needed control back to him. A sticking charm or several on his hands, legs, ass, back, and shoulders saw Harry comfortable enough to remove the full body bind.

The Hufflepuff jerked violently in the water, "Harry – are you – "

" _You – are – never – cooking – again_ ," the Gryffindor gasped out, his face red, and his whole body shaking as he practically collapsed against the bathtub, whole body flinching as sensitive and _aching_ parts of himself were jarred as he moved.

"I swear, I didn't know – "

Harry shook his head and whimpered as a fullbody shudder tore through him, he bit down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood as he swallowed back any and every sound that might tear itself free of him. His vision was going. He needed to get into some cold water before he ended up masturbating himself into a coma right there in front of the other man. He spelled the showers on, but – oh, did they have to be so far away?

The crawl over was _painful_ , humiliating and _pain_ _ful_ , but the first kiss of cold water was _**relief**_ in its most profound.

He curled into as tight of a ball as possible under the spray, sighing deeply.

 _ **000**_

Old Man's Mercy.

That was the name of the strange root that Newt had dug out of the bog. It was a magical plant found the world over, but not like this. In England, they were tiny, barely the length of his little finger and thinner still, slightly off-yellow in colour, with a flaky surface. They were commonly used in virility potions, a little tipple to help ageing wizards perform in the bedroom, little better than a mild aphrodisiac. Newt had observed it being used a lot in small creature breeding, prompting the consumers to essentially go into a sex starved heat cycle where they were mind-bendingly desperate to copulate with the nearest compatible source. It certainly wasn't potent enough to overpower human reason in the way that they had nearly been defeated earlier.

Trust Newt to find an asian variation of the root a hundred times more potent.

His respect for Harry ratcheted up another notch or eight. Somehow the former auror managed to keep control of himself, even though he was probably hit harder with the effects of the root having been previously sexually active, a lot smaller, and having eaten a larger portion (Newt was worried about his weight, so had been giving him larger than normal portions). Newt remembered seeing the young man sweating, panting, dazed, using his levitating form as a crutch as he staggered weakly into the bathroom. At the time he had wanted nothing more than to tear his clothes off, and get _inside_ the man via any means necessary. How Harry managed to maintain the presence of mind to not only restrain Newt, but think enough to get him into cold water to lower his temperature and that accursed sensitivity, Newt didn't know, but he was both grateful and awe-struck.

He was also very amused when the man threw what remained of the vegetable into the fire, and then vanished the whole thing with a vengeance, muttering about how he wasn't going to take the chance of _airborne sex pollen fumes_ as he stomped around the camp.

Newt was now permanently banned from cooking anything that wasn't porridge, or tea. No matter what.

 _ **000**_

"Thank you, by the way," Newt said to him, wrapped up in his blankets, "I – I dread to think what would have happened if you hadn't – " he cut himself off, shaking his head.

The auror rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. They both knew what would have happened if Harry had any less control of himself. They would have raped each other. Equally under the influence or not, the root stripped back their reasoning and will in favour of mindless _desperate_ lust, meaning that by a court of law's standards (at least in Harry's day and age once he was through with overhauling the entire justice system) as neither of them could consent under their own power, and continue to consent, it was rape.

"I was trained to throw off _imperio_ in my forth year," he admitted after a while, "Pretty sure even the most mind-altering potions won't _completely_ strip me of my mind," he mused thoughtfully, "Too stubborn."

Newt's smile was weak, "I can believe that... Harry, I really do need to apologise for – for the stew. I swear on my suitcase that I didn't know when I was making it. I would never force – never _trick_ you into anything like that," he vowed seriously.

"I know," Harry assured him, reaching over and patting him on the head, "That's the only reason why I haven't neutered you and damned the timeline," he chirped sweetly. The African ritual was different, Harry remembered possessing enough of his own will and reasoning that he _knew_ he consented at the end, that even before hand he just wanted to make the zoologist _earn_ it. That root though... Harry sincerely hoped that no one _ever_ found out about it. He dreaded to think of the blackmarket's reaction to such a potent aphrodisiac – he could think of a thousand ways that root could be used in the most _disgusting_ of ways.

"I can't say I wouldn't let you either," the Hufflepuff admitted with a miserable little smile.

 _ **000**_

The idea of forcing himself onto Harry was one that made him nauseous. They might have both been in heat due to that accursed vegetable, but they were _not_ creatures, they were _not_ animals. They had a concept of consent, and the intelligence to acknowledge and reason. Newt himself might have often thought he was more creature than human, but there were some things he would _never_ give up, _**ever**_.

And his capacity to control himself sexually was one of them.

 _ **000**_

After Harry peeled back the copywrite charms and began to list what spells were on his Firebolt, and how they wove together, he gained a much greater understanding of where he had gone wrong with his experimental broom. And he _had_ gone wrong. There were ways to link the spells together that neatly layered them up without tangling or suffocating the underlying spells, choking them and preventing them from working as they should – which was what Harry had done.

So he stripped his new broom, and started again. This time with considerably less charms, and built it from the ground up, chucking what he didn't need in a seeker's broom, and layering the extra charms for increased speed, manoeuvrability, and sensitivity carefully so as not to suffocate the underlying matrix of charms.

It gave him something to focus on aside from the new horrific awkwardness now sat between him and Newt. Ever since the incident with the root, the both of them had been waking up with parts of their anatomy much more awake than others, which made for some very awkward mornings, that lead to even more awkward breakfasts. Because despite what either of them thought of the incident, it certainly provided interesting material in the way of facial expressions and sounds to replay late at night.

Still, it wasn't all bad. They found several species of magical bird that had previously been thought to be little more than muggle mythology as they travelled south from Xinjiang Province into Tibet Province.

Dapeng, an aquatic species of bird with silvery fish scales on its back that looked more like feathers, and a sky blue underbelly with white fluff at its wings to look like clouds. It was a shy bird with shape-shifting abilities, flipping from bird to fish with a flick of its long cloud-like white tail. When in the water it could alter the current of a river, when a bird it could call down rain and wind. From what they observed, it ate only white flowers that grew at the water's edge.

Shangyang, an asian species of augrey that looked like the bastard lovechild of a heron and a crane where instead of wailing to forewarn of heavy rains, it would dance on one leg. The more elaborate the dance, the greater the rainfall. Their little campsite had nearly been swept away by the flashflood that followed their observation of the bird's dance.

And a Zhenniao, a purple bird with the features of both a goose and an eagle, livid purple, lilac, and black in colour with a vivid ruby red beak and eyes, and a resonating metallic shriek that sent all the hairs on the back of Harry's neck on end. It was a _demonic_ looking, and sounding bird. And possibly the clumsiest, silliest, and most affectionate of the birds they had observed thus far. They were roughly the size of a Labrador, and flew in flocks of five to ten strong. They were very social, but had the most comical waddling run that Harry had ever seen – and they _always_ tripped when running, practically bellyflopping onto the ground much to the noisy delight of their fellows who would jump up and down repeatedly, and then run over, only to trip themselves and slide over on their bellies. It was the most ridiculously charming thing either he or Newt had seen, and the two had to work rather hard to muffle their laughter as they observed the small flock.

Tibet also happened to be where they encountered the previously thought legendary Baku – and Harry had to haul Newt's ass well and truly away from that cluster fuck because created creature guardians were not beings you wanted to fuck with.

Then, he finished his broom.

 _ **0000**_

 **And that's that for this chapter. I'm literally about to fall asleep in my keyboard so I figured I'd throw this up now, because I had no idea where to tie this chapter off, so decided to just end it with Harry finally finishing his custom broom. Next chapter will be the test drive, and some other shenanigans.**


	12. Chapter 12

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twelve**

He still had no idea what wood this thing was made from, but as the last charm fell from his lips, he felt it hum under his fingertips, a kind of pent-up energy just beneath the surface that he could feel a mirror of within his own bones. It took him a moment to realise that he was finished in all honesty. Sat there with the broom in his lap thinking _what next_ , only to realise there was no next.

Nothing beyond testing it out anyway.

Harry surged to his feet, Newt squawking in surprise next to him as he did so.

"Harry?" he asked, even as the Gryffindor bounced a few paces forward and set his broom down. It was an _ugly_ thing, unvarnished, unsmoothed, the shaft was a little knobbly, and the brush comprised of whatever sticks Harry had picked up while wondering through the forest, all tied together with a fresh green strip of bamboo. It did not look sky worthy in the slightest but as Harry stood beside it and held a hand out, he didn't care in the slightest about its looks, it felt like a racer under his palms. And he couldn't wait to taste the sky again.

"Up!" he commanded, and the ugly bastard _leaped_ into his fingers like a loyal pet dog, vibrating in his hand as Harry grinned wildly and swung his leg up –

"Harry you can't be ser- " Newt began in alarm a breath before the Gryffindor was seated and the broom _**ROCKETED**_ into the sky. He yelled as he shielded his face from the blast of air – Harry's joyful shout fading as he looked upwards to where the broom and his stupid suicidally crazy husband were winging through the sky.

He had never seen a broom so fast.

Harry could feel his blood _singing_ in his veins as the cold wind lashed his cheeks and forced his eyes to slit against force of it, it felt like riding fucking _lightning_!

He twisted in place, the broom overbalancing and sending him into a rolling tumbling head over heels dive – _merlin_ it was so sensitive! He shifted again, and it bucked under his hands as the whole thing swooped and levelled out smoothly.

It was the work of a second to transfigure a pair of goggles from a scrap of paper in his pocket, and then Harry bent low on his broom, grinning fiercely.

Time to test the true limitations of his beautiful ugly bastard of a broom!

 _ **000**_

Newt whined in almost pain, gripping his wand in both hands as he watched the small black speck in the sky _dive, swoop, flip, twist, drop, and arc_ through the air faster than anything he had ever seen before.

Every now and again his ears would catch the faint sound of a scream, and felt his stomach drop down to his icy cold toes in terror.

Had he even cast any _safety_ charms on himself before going up there?!

 _ **000**_

Harry was having the time of his god – damn – fucking – _life!_

He couldn't _breathe_!

His ugly magnificent bastard of a broom was a work of fucking _**art**_ and he would fight anyone who said otherwise!

He roared with laughter as he bounced up in his seat, balancing carefully as he got his feet under him and then _stood up_.

Using his feet he fucking _surfed_ his broom through the sky, and then jumped off it with a gleeful laugh, free falling through the air before summoning it back into his hand, and flashing into the steepest dive he had gone into yet, the world screaming up at him a breath before he hauled on the shaft, and lanced into the trees.

Pupils narrowed to pin-pricks, his every miniscule twitch controlling this hellbeast of a broom as he dodged through hanging vines, oversweeping branches, spiderwebs, swinging monkeys, and flapping bird wings.

He laughed fiercely as with a single kick of his leg he was skybound once more, rising up into the air like an arrow.

Oh, why had he ever stopped flying?

In the distance he could see jagged mountains, and a familiar flicker of scarlet and gold amongst its peaks. Phoenix nests. He wondered if Newt had ever seen a phoenix up close. Maybe he would have to recommend they travel this way?

He laughed when he spotted a flash of fire on his left, one of the fire birds flickering into existence beside him, it trilled curiously as it swooped around him and he trilled back, a sound he recalled Fawkes making more than once when he was happy. The Phoenix sang excitedly and Harry flicked his broom into a dizzying dive, the phoenix falling with him.

Flying with a phoenix, now that was something he'd never done before!

The two ducked and wove through the sky in dizzying spirals and patterns, trilling and chirruping at one another, several more phoenix flashed in to join the aerial dancing, and Harry laughed so hard he almost cried as he had to slow to a smooth glide. Gods, he missed Fawkes, and Hogwarts, and just... everyone. He lifted his goggles to swipe at his damp eyes as the birds all fluttered in around him, one of the smaller ones landing on his shoulders with a concerned croon as it tried to get a look at his leaking eyes.

"I'm fine, beautiful, I'm fine," he assured the bird softly, reaching up and stroking its chest. It trilled in surprise and confusion, hopping on his shoulder before puffing up and peeping happily under his continued stroking. He guessed they'd never encountered humans before, or at least, never been touched by one before. Harry laughed as another bird landed on his other shoulder, wings buffeting his head. Fairly soon he was smothered in phoenix, young and old, all of them crooning and trilling as they demanded their own affection. Harry was having one hell of a time trying to control his broom as several of the larger _swan_ sized avians hopped up and down its length, and his back.

How could anyone be sad with this lot climbing all over him?

His eyes were still leaking, but he laughed happily as he chattered to them, and if one or two of the curious birds actually drank his tears, he didn't comment when they clustered a little closer, piping at him.

 _ **000**_

Newt paced up and down the camp in agitation, every now and again raising the binoculars back to his eyes and scanning the skies for Harry. He could see him as a distant speck, but for some reason he had turned red only a little while ago, too far away to see clearly, he was just... hovering there. Doing nothing.

Had something happened?

He chewed his lower lip in concern, sincerely hoping that all that red wasn't blood.

 _ **000**_

"You think so?" the Gryffindor asked, lounging on his broom still smothered in phoenix.

The smallest of them, a very forward little lady piped knowingly, bobbing up and down. Behind her several of the other phoenix trilled in agreement, one of them even pecking at his left hand little finger in reprimand. Harry grimaced and tapped that one on the beak with a grumpy chirp of his own – the others all chittered in amusement at him.

"I guess," he grumped thoughtfully, "But I can't help but worry all the same. I like him, I do. But he was never supposed to – he isn't _for_ me. He's for Tina. It isn't just his future I'd be stealing, it would be hers as well," he explained with a heavy sigh of grief.

He got pecked again, and all the phoenix started trilling and singing. Harry huffed as he felt their magic interweave with his own, a hot flush of bravery and happiness thrumming through him.

"Cut it out you lot," he complained lazily, unable to muster the irritation to actually snap at them. The littlest of them chirped and made a heavily exaggerated gesture that was almost identical to the way that Hedwig used to 'roll her eyes' at him. Harry scoffed in amusement, laughing and almost dumping her off his stomach. "Yes I am ridiculous, doesn't mean I don't have a point though," he pointed out with a grin.

The largest phoenix piped a put upon trill and cuffed him with a wing.

God, what was he doing even? Getting relationship advice from birds?

He squawked as the little madam pecked his chin and trilled at him, fluttering her wings, and piping a song that made his insides shivery. "I am _not_ going to just kiss him out of the blue," he objected which set off trilling cries and songs of encouragement that turned his blood to fire and made his head dizzy. These birds were going to be the death of him, he decided even as he laughed and covered his eyes with a hand.

"How did we even get onto this subject?" he asked and received several curious trills, and one very smug chirp from the little madam as she puffed up proudly in his lap. "Yeah, figures it would be you, huh?" he asked, rubbing her fluffy cheek in amusement. He fell silent as he stared up at the sky, feeling the heat of their feathery bodies seeping through his clothing before he sighed deeply.

"Hey... If... if I _did_ go for it... If I... changed the timeline... What would happen, I mean, would it ruin everything? Would the people I love get hurt?" he asked, peering down at the cluster of phoenix all watching him carefully. No doubt someone would think him mad to be asking such questions of birds, but Harry had always had a strange relationship with Fawkes, while the phoenix was Dumbledore's familiar, the bird had cared for Harry a great deal more than the headmaster had. In the following years since he left Hogwarts, the more information he learned about the magnificent birds, the more he realised that his relationship with the headmaster's familiar had been unique. It had been just as complex as his one with Dumbledore himself, but... more benign, kinder. So for Harry, asking such a question of the wild phoenix was just... if there was any being that could answer, it was probably them, right?

The little madam fluffed up and trilled aggressively, she hopped up and down angrily on his chest before piping something that was most _definitely_ negative.

Harry watched her for a tense moment, "They won't be hurt?" he asked breathlessly.

She piped negatively, hopping in place again, and Harry felt...

The weight in his chest was gone.

He felt weak and shaky with relief as suddenly he could _breathe_ again. He sobbed, a hand coming up to cover his mouth, to stifle the noise even as the phoenix all trilled in concern, fluttering and clustering closer.

They were okay, they would be okay, they would be _fine_.

Harry choked on a laugh.

 _ **000**_

Newt jumped to his feet, half mad with worry as he saw Harry finally sweep in to land in their little camp.

"Harry! Are you alright? What happened, you were gone for so long! What were you thinking, did you even apply any safet- " Harry cut him off, dropping his broom to the ground and catching Newt's face in both hands, before standing on tiptoe to kiss him silent.

The Hufflepuff froze, blinking rapidly as the Gryffindor pulled away, and smiled gently at him before letting go.

"Whu – " he blurted as Harry swept past him, summoning his broom back into his hand, and then descended into the suitcase.

What – what just happened?

Newt blinked rapidly as he scrambled after Harry, watching him in abject confusion. He was... it was almost like immediately after they dealt with the poachers camp, he was loose, languid, relaxed in a way Newt had never seen him before. _Happy_. He didn't understand. What on earth had happened earlier? __Had it been the flying?

"Harry, are you... feeling well?" he asked anxiously, hovering in the background as the Gryffindor gathered a few of his gardening tools.

He laughed lightly, "Yes actually. A lot better than before," he admitted, smiling down at the broomstick in front of him, his gaze far away. "I... spotted a phoenix nest while I was flying," he explained, smiling fondly, "They decided to join me, and we flew together for a bit. I... got a few answers talking to them. Even wild phoenix are very intelligent, and intimately connected to magic, they're able to understand complex thought processes that other creatures can't."

Newt swallowed, fascinated, and frightened all at once.

"What did they tell you?" he asked hesitantly.

Harry's fingers stilled on the gardening implements as he stared ahead, seeing something that wasn't there, his face soft in a way that Newt had never seen it before.

"My family are safe."

 _ **000**_

Things changed, slowly at first, but they did.

Harry felt free in a way he never had before, not since Hagrid told him about being a wizard. Those scant few days where he realised he could escape the Dursleys, when he knew he wasn't a freak, that his parents _loved_ him, and that every poisonous lie that his aunt dripped into his ears was _wrong_. Back before he willingly, happily, walked into the cage that Dumbledore had so carefully lined and lit to make it look like a haven from the abuse of his family.

It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, leaving nothing but a distant ache, a phantom of a memory. Everything felt brighter, lighter, his insides were shivery, and he felt a little _queasy_ with it all.

He was probably frightening Newt, but – Harry only laughed a little as he told Bubbles and Blossom about the situation. He would get over it, probably. Harry was just a little high on his own happiness, his own relief, right now. He would come down eventually. Until then, he just revelled in the freedom, in the reassurance.

His family were safe, no matter what he did.

The thought of it was dizzying, heady even.

He chirped and crooned at the animals in the case, unable to sit still, so he tended and fussed over them. Newt would get over his confusion and hesitation eventually, until then, Harry contented himself with teaching the billywigs to spell out rude words in mid-air for the promise of fruit.

It wasn't _just_ the realisation that his family were safe from whatever his fuck-ups in this timeline were, it was also the relief of knowing that _no one knew he existed here_. No Lord Captain Peverell, no Boy Who Lived, Man Who Conquered, Gryffindor Golden Boy, Saviour, Chosen One, no _Youngest Auror_ – no paperwork, he huffed a laugh as he realised that one. He'd left a stack as high as his elbow on his desk the last time he had been at the office. Ron was going to...

Think he was dead.

Harry sat down heavily, his good mood slowly dissolving.

He might be in a better position right now, in a timeline that didn't have the same shit shovelled onto him as before. But it was also one where he had none of the friends and family he used to have, and they – they lost him.

Teddy would grow up without his godfather. Molly lost another son. Ron and Hermione lost their bestfriend. George lost another brother. Andy lost one of her few remaining family members. Kingsley lost his friend and most trusted auror. And none of them would know how, why, or where. Harry didn't even remember the day that brought him here, had Ron been with him? Had Neville? Were they somewhere in this timeline, hiding, or had they been lucky and escaped? Had Harry gone alone to whatever cluster fuck that brought him here?

He dragged a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh.

Well, there went his good mood. He was depressed again.

"Harry?" Newt again. It seemed he had stopped hiding in his shed after being creeped out by Harry's rarely displayed good mood. He sounded concerned, must be wondering what brought it suddenly crashing down. "Is everything alright?"

The Gryffindor snorted a laugh, "Decidedly not. Don't worry Newt, just... homesickness. Hit me a little out of the blue," he assured the Hufflepuff as he leaned back on his palms and kicked his feet out.

There was a moment of silence, and then Newt sat down next to him. Harry tried not to jump because he hadn't even heard the man coming closer, like Harry he had learned how to walk silently, even in those big heavy work boots of his. Harry glanced at the scruffy young man, and had to smile a little, his hair was getting a bit too long again, his shirt was dirty, untucked, the collar was unbuttoned, the sleeves were rolled up, and there were fresh cuts and scratches on his hands.

"Do you want to talk about it, the future you left behind?" Newt asked gently. "I... hadn't wanted to ask for fear of making you sad but, perhaps it may help?" he offered gently, hopefully.

Harry stared at him for a moment before smiling, "Alright." He looked up at the ceiling, at the bubble-environments for the various aquatic creatures above them.

"My parents were Lily and James Potter. Mum was a muggleborn, brightest witch of her age, and dad wasn't too shabby either. I was born on the tail-end of the First Rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort, the half-blood son of a squib Heir of Slytherin. We were in hiding because Dumbledore is really bad at security charms."

 _ **000**_

Newt never thought he could hate Professor Dumbledore, not after everything the man had done for him. But listening to Harry's past, listening to Tom Riddle's past, to what his mentor had _done_ , and then hearing about his connection to _Grindelwald_ , the death of his sister, his fear in confronting his old lover. Newt didn't – it felt almost like a betrayal, and the hurt he felt as a teenager warred with his anger on Harry's behalf.

The two of them had moved into his shed to more comfortable seats, and cups of tea. Harry leaned against him, head on his shoulder, tucked under the Hufflepuff's arm as he talked about the war that broke out when he was _fourteen;_ about the mental and physical torture the Ministry of Magic forced onto him at fifteen; the careful grooming he received in his sixth year, though he didn't know what it was and never used the term himself, Newt knew training, knew grooming, when it was described to him. And he felt sick to his stomach when he realised that Professor Dumbledore, the same man that argued so vehemently against his expulsion, who managed to swing only a home suspension for his final six months, was the same man that manipulated his husband into believing that his life was inconsequential in the face of 'the greater good', Merlin's beard, his skin crawled to hear those words from the Gryffindor's mouth, to know they were first spoken by a man he admired so much. A man who groomed his husband into being suicidal, into being a _martyr for the Greater Good_. Even to this day when faced with certain situations where the needs of the many outweighed his own, Harry would without hesitation choose to kill himself _first_. He wouldn't even try to _think_ of another avenue.

Newt didn't react, he couldn't, it was only the many long years of creature handling that prevented it. Animals were very sensitive to mood, body language, tone, and even facial expressions, Harry was as well, and the last thing Newt wanted to do was make him clam up. So he did nothing, and just continued to listen, the only sign of his anger being the white knuckled grip he had on his cup.

Dumbledore dying, the Ministry being taken over, going on the run, dragon abuse at Gringotts, escaping on the back of one (dragon riding, he shouldn't be surprised by anything his husband got up to anymore), the Deathly Hallows, actually being _related_ to them hence being legally able to use the name 'Peverell', obtaining two of the magical objects, _Hogwarts being destroyed_.

Harry dying.

The Gryffindor laughed croakily as Newt buried his face in his hair, unable to keep his calm anymore. "Hey, I'm still here. I got better," he said soothingly as he wound an arm around the Hufflepuff's waist. "I'm fine."

" _No you aren't. You were manipulated into thinking suicide was your only option and its_ _still_ _messing you up today. You're not fine,_ " Newt muttered furiously in Polish, fairly certain it was a language Harry _didn't_ understand.

The auror didn't comment, merely huffed a laugh against his neck, and carried on telling his story. About how the sacrificial magic in his death had protected everyone from any of the curses the Death Eaters had been throwing, how he duelled and defeated Voldemort, and everyone began to pick up the pieces.

His brilliant muggleborn bestfriend, Hermione, finding her parents again, and then reforming the entire Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, championing House Elf rights, werewolf rights. How Ron and Neville joined Harry in becoming the youngest aurors in History and completely overhauling the entire justice system of England, rooting out corruption in its every form, and hunting down all the former supporters of the Dark Lord. Harry eventually breaking up on amiable terms with his girlfriend Ginny, how the war had changed them both, and no matter how much they would continue to care for one another, it just wasn't love anymore. That thinking was a little alien to Newt who had been raised amongst purebloods that believed that love was secondary to marriage, but he found that he rather liked it. Raising his godson Teddy, son of his cousin Tonks and his father's werewolf bestfriend Remus, both dead in the war. Living with George to make sure he didn't do anything silly in his depression after his twin Fred was taken too soon, trying not to kill George himself for constantly pranking him. Of misty Luna Lovegood going on her own travelling adventures looking for magical creatures, and meeting the grandson of a certain famous mythozoologist. Newt blushed furiously at the sly smirk Harry flashed him over that.

"And then... I ended up here. Apparated into Diagon Alley with a shattered skull, not knowing a damn thing. Some medi-witch saw to me, healed the damage, and that's when I saw a newspaper and promptly apparated myself under a rock in Africa. And the rest, they say, is history," he finally finished, taking a mouthful of his tea with a heavy sigh.

"They probably all think I'm dead," he admitted softly, "It just kind of hit me earlier when I was thinking about the huge pile of paperwork I hadn't finished yet. Ron's going to have to do it and... yeah. It just hit me."

Newt pulled a face, and gathered him a little closer.

"And... what made you decide that..." he trailed off, not exactly sure how to articulate his question because the day before Harry had been all but ignoring his existence, willing to _kill_ himself than get close. And then suddenly, he's not only initiating a kiss, but letting Newt touch and hug him as much as he liked, even leaning into it where as before he would be stiff and uncomfortable, relaxing only in his sleep.

Harry turned his head and nuzzled his forehead against Newt's head, "I asked the phoenix if changing things here would hurt anyone back home. They said no. I can't kill them, however accidentally, by doing _anything_ here," he explained with a giddy sigh of relief.

Newt froze, feeling his stomach drop down to his toes.

 _That_ had been what Harry was worried about all these months since they'd met? That any changes he had created would inadvertently _kill_ everyone he knew and loved? He had said before he didn't want to ruin anything, that the ripples would – Newt hadn't realised it would be lethal. No wonder, absolutely no wonder he had fought so _hard_ against him for so long.

"Harry, I owe you an apology," the Hufflepuff choked out, drawing back from the now confused Gryffindor. "I had not taken the true depths of your concerns regarding the damages any changes to the timeline may create. I am so sorry for not – "

Harry reached up and placed a hand over his mouth, looking amused. "I didn't exactly tell you, now did I? You don't have to apologise."

Newt frowned, pulling his hand away, "But I do. Harry, truly, I – I was most rude and, I ignored your personal feelings and desires in pursuit of a relationship you were initially completely against, and dismissed your reasons and concerns without fully trying to understand them. I owe you an apology. I – I thought that because our marriage was bonded via magic that our coming together was a foregone conclusion, and was confused when you seemed to fight it _so hard_. That is no excuse for ignoring your wishes, and forcing my affections onto you. Harry, I am so sorry," he apologised earnestly, absolutely ashamed of himself. If his mother had any idea of his behaviour – she would probably approve thinking about it, but Theseus would hang him out of a third floor window by his socks if he ever found out.

That Harry probably hadn't even realised that what Newt was doing to him was so wrong just made this all the worse, because he had never been given choice, and all of his decisions were taken out of his hands and – Newt felt wretched.

Harry leaned back against the desk, tea in his lap as he eyed the Hufflepuff carefully, "You're going to have to explain this magically bound marriage thing to me. I figured it was just a legal thing, spells so the Ministry can automatically file marriage certificates and the like. But the way you talk about it... I'm getting the impression I have another gap in my knowledge regarding wizarding culture," he admitted with an unhappy grimace.

Newt nodded, swallowing dryly against his throat.

"Yes... Yes I – yes. Well, you see, the first thing to take into mind is that Magic is alive, and has a will all of her own."

 _ **0000**_

 **And FINALLY~**

 **Chapter twelve finished, major hurdles overcome, hopefully the next few chapters will have the fluff you've all been howling for.**


	13. Chapter 13

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Thirteen**

Harry watched in amusement as the phoenix all clustered around Newt with piping coos, and trills of interest. After their talk, Harry had decided to take the mythozoologist to meet the small flock at the top of the mountain, it was practically insurmountable without brooms, and even then none of the _present_ day brooms would have survived the vicious headwinds that the phoenix played in. Newt had to practice a bit on Harry's Firebolt before they could risk flying up to see them.

Until then, Harry hadn't known the Hufflepuff played Quidditch. Chaser was a bit unexpected, Harry would have thought he played Keeper, defensively, or perhaps even Beater, with his upper-body strength. He thought about challenging the Hufflepuff to a race, but one look down at his new broom and decided against it, his homemade broom was a speed monstrosity. The Firebolt wouldn't be able to keep up.

The second they reached the top of the mountain, the whole flock came fluttering onto him, much to Newt's glee as Harry went down under mysteriously heavier than they should have been avians. Then they noticed the Hufflepuff.

There wasn't actually a term for what happened, but the closest Harry could think of was a 'dogpile', only with phoenix.

The little madam peeped smugly from his shoulder as she continued to preen his hair. Harry rolled his eyes and poked her, "Yes, yes, you were right, I was wrong," he agreed as he watched the mythozoologist interact with the mythical birds.

They spent the next few hours with the birds, Harry rummaging several different kinds of herbs for them to eat much to Newt's fascination as he hadn't been aware of the fact that they were entirely herbivorous and didn't in fact live off seeds and berries like most birds. Newt sketched each of the birds while Harry fed and preened them, sat cross legged on the rocks practically swimming in phoenix, trilling in concert with them.

 _ **000**_

Harry had to practically drag him away from the nest as the sun began to set, "We won't be able to find our way back to camp, Newt!" he exclaimed with a laugh as he hooked an arm around the mythozoologist's bicep and began to pull. Newt spluttered mournfully as the phoenix all trilled and fluttered around them as they made their way back to the brooms.

"But – but Harry, how often are we going to have the chance to study wild phoenix in their natural habitats?" he exclaimed anxiously.

"I never said we couldn't come back, you silly goose!" the Gryffindor laughed as he kicked the Firebolt into his hand and then shoved it against Newt's chest. "But there's a hungry Nundu in your suitcase and I don't particularly like the idea of him trying to take a bite out of the runespoor because we forgot to feed him this evening," he scolded laughingly as he picked up his own broom.

Newt grimaced, yes, it was rather getting towards feeding time. And tonight would be a fullmoon, so the mooncalves would be out and gazing as well.

"We can come back tomorrow," Harry said, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek, much to the noisy approval of the phoenix around them. "Oi, that's enough out of the peanut gallery, you feathery menaces!" the Gryffindor exclaimed, turning away from the Hufflepuff to swipe at the closest phoenix. All of them trilled in glee as they wheeled around the two.

Harry scoffed, "I forgot how gossipy and annoying phoenix could be," he complained without heat, he turned to the zoologist, jerking a thumb at the birds, "Are you _sure_ you want to come back – "

Newt kissed him.

And, after a moment, Harry kissed back.

 _ **000**_

They got lost looking for their camp in the dark.

Newt couldn't help but turn bright red when Harry shot him the stink eye in the gloom because that was _entirely_ his fault. Eventually they found it, but it took some creative charm-work on Harry's flight goggles to find the concentration of magic that was Newt's suitcase – Harry loudly declared that he was never going anywhere without his auror equipment again as they landed.

Newt went to feed his creatures as Harry got a start on their food for the evening. It was going to be a little plain as most of their herbs went to the phoenix earlier, but Harry could forage more without difficulty tomorrow. When Newt surfaced he took no time at all in hugging Harry from behind, burying his face in the back of the Gryffindor's neck as he worked, smiling foolishly to himself.

He had always wanted a relationship like he had seen his parents in, one full of love, and affection. He had grown up knowing how rare it was as well. A great deal of pureblood marriages had nothing to do with love, merely the continuing of a bloodline, and the exchanging of a dowry and political favours. His mother had been the rare young woman who rejected all of her parents arrangements, and instead went out and found a husband herself, refusing any man or woman who couldn't match her love or knowledge of magical creatures. She eventually found it in his father, a gentle, soft-spoken scholarly man who worked in care of magical creatures, specifically racing hippogriffs and winged horses, up in the Lake District. His mother claimed it was love at first sight, his father told him in conspiratory undertones that it may have been for her, but he was actually quite terrified of the woman for some time even during their courting. However, it was during the courting process that he came to know her better, and fall madly in love with the woman who was just as fierce and proud as the hippogriffs her family were known to breed.

He pressed a kiss to the back of Harry's neck. Hard work and patience really does pay off in the long run.

 _ **000**_

They observed the Phoenix for another two days before it was time to move on again.

They hiked as far as Sichuan Province, running into a few Xiezhi along the way, and stopping for a few days to study a mated pair of Pixiu, winged lions whose feathers were often used in luck potions, and curse breaking. Much like nifflers they had a unique ability to ferret out gold and silver, however, unlike the fluffy european creatures, they _ate_ the precious metals, and if they thought well enough of you, would share that wealth with you. They found a second flock of Zhenniao, the clumsy evil looking birds, this one somewhat bigger, and they were savagely tearing apart a nest of snakes. For Harry, the sound – he grabbed Newt's wrist hard enough to leave bruises as he grimaced, ears filled with screaming. Some of those snakes were still _alive_ while the birds began to eat them. One or two of the Zhenniao were injured, their queerly green blood smoking faintly on the green plant-life. Plant-life that began to blacken and die. Poisoned.

They were six days out of Chongqing when Harry woke up to jewel-bright laughing dark eyes an inch from his nose.

He blinked, going cross eyed as he stared at the scarlet face of the little madam phoenix stood on his chest looking _very_ pleased with herself.

Harry groaned and dropped his head back before rolling over and burrowing himself into Newt's side, much to the phoenix's noisy indignity. She hopped up and down on his head, trilling furiously as the Hufflepuff peered up at her blearily, smacking his lips sleepily as he squinted at her.

A pause. "Harry?" A grunt. "One of your phoenix is here."

"Not my phoenix."

Newt grimaced, blinking a few times, awake now as he observed the diminutive, huffy little bird, "Somehow, I don't think that's the case anymore," he observed, unsure how to react to this latest... incident in their lives.

An arm shifted from the blankets, and Harry pulled him down, cuddling back against him.

"Ignore it. Maybe it'll go away," he grumbled, and Newt chuckled a little disbelievingly even as he wound his arms around the Gryffindor – he got the distinct feeling that the little madam as Harry had been calling her was not going to be going away any time soon, and _really_ , Harry was possibly the only person in the world who would be _annoyed_ by a phoenix deciding she liked him.

The phoenix trilled and hopped onto the back of Harry's neck, fluffing herself up and getting comfortable in the crook between his shoulder and his head.

Harry sighed against his chest in aggravation, and Newt grinned crookedly in helpless amusement.

 _ **000**_

Harry eventually named the little madam Wu Mei, after the only known Empress of China, Wu Zetian. Mei being the name her husband gave her meaning 'glamorous'. The little madam was _very_ pleased with her new name and the history that went with it if the way she preened and flicked her feathers was any indication. Harry merely rolled his eyes, and found a perch for her in the suitcase as she couldn't remain in public with them as they passed through a muggle city.

She was utterly fascinated by all the creatures in Newt's case, and Harry was happy to leave her to familiarise herself with them as he and Newt made a stop at one of the wayhouses, and had a _proper_ hot bath, with soap and everything. A decent hot meal, and a freshly made bed (they even paid one of the girls to give their clothes a scrub). It would be another two days before the train to Hong Kong arrived overland from Beijing (there were two trains, one that followed the coast, the other overland), and they planned to make the most of it by shopping for more supplies, and sorting themselves out.

After so long in the wilderness, the sudden hustle and bustle of a _bursting_ Chinese city was... a bit much.

Both Newt and Harry ended up exhausted by the end of every evening, practically hiding within the suitcase just for a chance to breathe after all the _noise_ , and _chaos_. They eagerly went out exploring every day none the less, but it didn't make adapting to the change in environment any easier. It was fun though. They saw a few temples, played the part of tourists for a little while, shopped. Newt got a brand-new pressed wool coat at Harry's insistence, the faded peacock blue garment was one of the few ones that actually fit the mythozoologist at the little western style clothing store. Harry got a few scrolls from a dusty little bookshop that contained legitimate potion recipes – it was just going to take a lot of time and effort translating them – and even managed to find an apothecary to restock his potions ingredients, getting everything he needed and more for just a small handful of crushed runespoor scales.

Then the train rolled in, and both Harry and Newt spent a somewhat less awkward, but no less uncomfortable, three days travelling down to Hong Kong crammed into the corner of a completely _stuffed_ train carriage.

 _ **000**_

"Huh, it's October," Harry observed as he flipped through one of the Chinese newspapers, he had been deciphering the language since they rejoined civilisation. It wasn't as far off from modern Mandarin as he thought it was, it was just the very minor changes that threw him off into thinking it was an entirely different language. It had been his birthday while they had been meandering through the Chinese wilderness.

Speaking of birthdays, "Hey, Newt, when's your birthday?" he asked curiously, looking up at the young man as he investigated several ginger roots in the market place.

"December the eleventh," the Hufflepuff answered promptly before pausing, "It is however my mother's on the seventeenth of November," he suddenly said before grimacing, "I should really send her something," he muttered before glancing to Harry, "I'm terrible at presents though. Any ideas?" he asked hopefully.

Harry gave him a look of mirthful disbelief, "Yes, Newt, the _orphan_ knows exactly what present to get your mother," he laughed, making the taller wizard wince and chuckle self-depreciatingly.

"Point," he agreed as he chose his ginger roots and paid the man running the stall.

Harry chuckled as they carried on down the bustling street, "Well, she breeds hippogriffs, yes? Care products might go down well, something practical if what you've told me about her is any indication. Chinese medicine is supposed to be world renowned for its effectiveness, perhaps you could send her a home-made care kit of useful things. We've got another week before the ship leaves," the Gryffindor pointed out as he paused at a hot-food stand and bought them both hot sweet potato to eat.

Newt hummed in agreement, juggling his suitcase, and the bag of ginger as he gratefully accepted the hot food, "That might be rather expensive though, and our funds are somewhat limited," he complained unhappily as he stuck the roots in his pocket and picked his suitcase up. They took it with them everywhere, unwilling to risk someone breaking into their hotel room and stealing it (Harry kept his auror robe in his pocket at all times, along with the other little bits they couldn't do without).

Harry swallowed his mouthful, "Newt, you've got a suitcase of monsters. I'm fairly sure you could trade some toenail clippings, or some of those monstrous dungballs for a pretty sickle somewhere around here. This is Hong Kong, the _biggest_ trade capitol in China," the Gryffindor pointed out flatly as he gestured around them. He took another bite of his potato as they meandered through the heaving tides of people, "If you want, we can head back, take a few to inventory what we have to hand, and then go looking for a magi-friendly trade hub, or head back to the apothecary to see if they'd be willing to buy it." __It had been the biggest one Harry had found within the country yet, and he had been able to trade for a great deal more ingredients that he hadn't been able to get his hands on just for a small handful of phoenix ash, and one of Mei's feathers. He somewhat got the impression he could have actually bought the whole store for that much, but refrained.

The Hufflepuff pulled a face, "It still feels a little like exploitation," he muttered unhappily into his potato.

Harry chuckled, "Okay, we'll find something else then," he said as they paused at another stall, this one selling pottery with beautiful depictions of weeping willows, and women in heavy robes at the water's edge, cranes, and lotus flowers, and men in funny hats. "I could sell some of the potions I made," he offered after a little while of thought, "Fairly sure some people would go for them."

"Which ones?" Newt asked swallowing his mouthful.

"Healing ones mainly. Several I made myself, so they aren't patented or anything either," he added as he balled up the cheap brown paper his potato had been wrapped in, and pocketed it for lack of a bin anywhere. "That apothecary was selling finished potions, pretty sure I could fence them there and ask where the nearest magi-district is."

"That sounds... agreeable," Newt admitted, dropping a little potato and trying to catch it, only to fail and sigh a little.

 _ **000**_

They got a fair bit of yuan for the potions, and were pointed in the direction of a tiny seeming fishmarket with a bad reputation, at least until they walked in and the whole placed ballooned out with a very subtle expansion charm, becoming a lot livelier, and more colourful.

Newt made a sound of pain, and Harry had to grab his hand to stop him from doing something foolish as he saw so many muggle and magical animals in cages around them. Each of the stalls had a stamped and sealed scroll hanging from their support poles, bearing the sigil of the Chinese Magical Government – they were legal, and if Harry let Newt interfere it could cause an international incident.

"Let's just get your mother's gift and go, unless you think some nice tea might go down well?" he suggested hopefully.

Newt made a negative sound, his expression tortured as he saw a cage of doxy being roughly shaken before one of the now too dizzy to bite creatures was snatched out. Harry dragged him away before he saw the rest, he'd heard enough of Rolf's ranting to know that the Chinese ate anything, and everything. And judging by the pot of hot oil and rice batter next to the cage – he could guess what was happening next.

Harry asked around quickly, and found himself being pointed to one of the few stores in an actual building, he hustled Newt there hopefully before he saw anything _too_ gruesome (Harry remembered there being a _huge_ scandal back in his timeline when a youtube video of a chinese street vendor beating a dog to death and then cooking it went viral, something about how the blood in the meat made it taste better being the reason). The Hufflepuff was once again hunched in on himself defensively, peering up at Harry sideways before looking back down, visibly upset in the way his grip had tightened on his case. Harry flashed him an apologetic look, touching his arm gently before leading him into the darkened shop filled with bottles, brushes, and other stable-like equipment.

" _Hello?_ " he called, waiting a moment before a young chinese woman appeared from out the back, she blinked in surprise to see them but smiled almost immediately.

" _Hello, welcome to Li Fen's Feather, Fur, and Scale solutions. How can I help you, sir?_ " she asked brightly, snatching a rag from behind the counter to clean her hands on. Behind her was a huge wall-scroll bearing the seal of the Chinese Ministry, again, another authorised store.

" _I'm looking for feather, and talon care tonics for fancy hippogriffs, and winged horses. Would you happen to have any in stock?_ " he asked carefully in his still somewhat awkward Chinese.

It took the woman a moment to get her head around his no doubt _very_ strange accent, but after a second of confusion, she was all smiles again. " _Of course, sir! Right this way,_ " she gushed, quickly moving out from behind the counter and showing them to a small side wall on the left. " _Here we have the feather tonics, this selection here is for racing birds, guaranteed to waterproof the feathers no matter the force of wind or rain, keeps them nice and sleek to lessen the wind-resistance. These are for show-birds, they really bring out the colour and shine of the plumage, prevent dirt from sticking to the shaft of the feathers, and in the down. This selection is medicinal, if you have an injured bird, mange, or just an injury to the wings, this will aid in the healing process. They're all scented, you can tell by the colour and design of the caps just which. Talon lacquer is just down here, would you like some more time to peruse this selection or would you like to see them now?_ " she asked brightly as Harry quietly relayed each of the tonics to Newt who had, not fully relaxed, but stopped looking like such a kicked puppy.

"Do we have enough money to get one of each?" Newt asked the Gryffindor quietly who began to check the paperslips against the listed prices beneath the tonic bottles.

Harry hummed, "If we were getting only one type of scent then yes. If you want one of each scent in each tonic, then that would be all of our funds. There wouldn't be enough for the talon lacquers."

"Mother does like jasmine," Newt confided quietly, and Harry nodded.

" _We would like one each of the jasmine scent, if you would,_ " he informed the girl who beamed radiantly at them and immediately began to tap her wand in a complex pattern on the glass cabinets. She collected each of the bottles with a small five point white flower on them, and handed them to Harry.

Talon care was more of the same, one for racers, one for showers, one for medicinal properties, and another one for fighting birds – Newt's grip tightened hard enough on his suitcase for the handle to creak, but thankfully the young lady hadn't noticed as Harry requested the jasmine scented companions for the three bottles currently in his hands. When he asked after hoof oils, she shook her head, apologetically informing him that they were out of stock, but her brother had a small supply in his private apothecary, invitation only.

She gave them an address, and a password of all things, before waving them off happily.

The two of them followed her directions to a small out of the way grungy alleyway, stopping the once to buy a handsome red lacquer box in order to store the bottles they currently had. Harry was getting a bad feeling as they made their way down the curiously muffled alleyway, the muscles in his back tensing aggressively as they passed obvious signs of spell damage, and what was likely gang-signs.

They found the door, and knocked in the specific pattern they needed to. A moment later, the eye slot snapped open.

" _Hua Mulan, gathering gems of beauty,_ " Harry recited faithfully at the glare they received.

A moment later, the door opened, and a thin faced young man gestured them in. Despite Harry's concerns, there was a large official wall-scroll facing them as they stepped in. An officially recognised shop.

" _My sister does not often send me customers. What can I do for you?_ " the young man asked quietly.

" _Hoof oils, if you have any. For Hippogriffs and winged horses,_ " Harry requested shortly. Still uncomfortable.

The young man nodded, and quickly bustled off into one of the back rooms. Five minutes later, he returned with three boxes. " _I keep myself to myself. As a potions master in Hong Kong, there are many who would seek to threaten me into their control. These are my own design. If my sister trusts you, so too shall I. These are primarily medicinal, but they work aesthetically as well,_ " the young man explained softly as he presented the box to them. Each jar was pure white, and swaddled in bunched up silk, laying beneath the three jars was a brush made of very fine fur, bound and glued together.

They paid for their purchases, and the young man saw them out.

As soon as the door closed, it locked and bolted behind them, the seams and frame hissing and squelching as they were sealed completely.

Harry and Newt exchanged looks.

"Potions master?" Newt asked curiously. They were known to have some funny habits in his personal experience.

Harry nodded, "Yeah. Come on. I don't like this place, let's get back to the Wayhouse," he suggested, casting a wary glance at the various shadows in and around them.

 _ **000**_

It took Harry some time to realise it.

Someone was following him.

It had been so long since anyone had tried, and he was in a completely different timeline, so there was no reason _really_ to follow some random Westerner for several days. But there you had it. Ever since their trip to the Chinese magical market, someone had been following after Harry, and it was driving him quite batty.

Newt, bless him, was still upset over the magical creatures he'd seen in the magic quarter so hadn't yet noticed. Harry decided to get this whole thing sorted before they were due to leave, so, three days before their ship was due to depart, the Gryffindor went for a walk, ostensibly to get Newt a Birthday Present so he wasn't allowed to come with him. The Hufflepuff gave him a tremulous smile that Harry endeavoured to kiss off his face for the next ten minutes before he left, Newt's smiles were best when they were genuinely happy, not trying to hide how upset he was.

Harry meandered through the muggle markets, stopping every now and again when he saw something that Newt might actually appreciate, such as more notebooks, an actual fountain pen, drawing charcoal and lead, ink-paints and brushes.

He made sure to make it look as authentic as possible when he got turned around, and wondered into a much quieter, almost abandoned area, and then made a show of scratching his head and swearing, as if he were lost.

It was almost too easy, he decided, when his watchers apparated in, surrounding him easily.

" _Triads, really?_ " Harry asked flatly, eyeing the men around him.

" _You are familiar with us? We are honoured,_ " one of the men announced cheerfully, mincing into the middle of the group, hands expressive in his massively baggy sleeves. Harry hadn't quite understood the descriptor of 'fox-faced' until now, the man seemed to possess an easy almost sly charm to him, and a smile that was a shade too wide, and showed just a few too many teeth to be as benign as he looked.

Harry hummed, eyeing the group, they were all geared to look intimidating and powerful, physically large, with visible tattoos, and matching dark chinese traditional robes. Foxface was the only one who was slim, small, and wearing blood red and white, clearly the most highly ranking individual, and if Harry recalled his Chinese culture properly, red was supposed to be a lucky colour, like green was in Ireland.

" _You've been following me for the last few days, care to explain what I've done to earn that_ dis _honour?_ " Harry asked mildly.

Foxface laughed, hiding his mouth with his sleeve, " _Ahh-haha, you noticed? You're as sharp as you look, my Tiger!_ "

" _I'm not your anything,_ " Harry corrected him ruthlessly, still smiling benignly.

Golden eyes slitted open, and the Gryffindor was only mildly disturbed to find them slit like a serpent's eye when it was upset, " _Not yet, you aren't. You see, the Wo Hop To tend to frown on strangers entering into their territories with handfuls of rare ingredients, and potions the like of which has never been seen before. Phoenix ash... and feather... very rare, and valuable. How is it a Western pig-dog comes to possess such treasures of the Chinese people?_ " Foxface sang playfully.

Harry leaned back and smirked at him, " _Because they don't belong to the Chinese people, but in fact to the phoenix that gave them to me. As for the potions, I made them. So don't worry about me moving into your territory. I will be gone by next week,_ " he promised with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Foxface laughed in delight, clapping his hands, " _You created those yourself? Truly, our potions masters have been baffled by them since they came into our hands. They are magnificently effective, truly. And even the keepers of the Emperor's Virtue and Grace deem you worthy. You, a white eyed high nose._ "

Harry arched an eyebrow at the racist slur.

" _Can't be as white eyed as your so called potions masters then,_ " he retorted sweetly. Often, using the term white eyed indicated blindness, or rather ignorance to what was going on around them.

Foxface's smile faltered for a moment, but then it was pasted back on with almost _painful_ force. " _That will be corrected soon, believe me. We have caught a Ghost in a jar, and have no intention of letting it get away without wringing it of all its answers._ "

" _You've... never actually dealt with a real ghost before, have you?_ " Harry asked blandly, choosing to deliberately misunderstand the racial slur, " _You people are a special kind of dog fart._ " One of the men behind him made an angry noise that had Foxface shooting them a quelling glare, and Harry chuckled, " _Might want to keep the mutts on a better leash there,_ " he quipped viciously, and Foxface smirked beatifically at him.

" _Oh, they're muzzled and leashed. The ones after that tortoise egg of yours, not so much,_ " he crooned, Harry frowned a little. He knew calling someone an egg was insulting, but, tortoise? There was definitely something sexual about that if he recalled his Chinese slurs correctly.

Something about a tortoise head and a penis... Usually used in connection with sexual promis- _Newt_!

 _ **0000**_

 **OOOH, AND I LEAVE IT ON A CLIFF HANGER!**

 **Yeah, I did a lot of research on chinese insults. Lol, they really don't like dogs.**


	14. Chapter 14

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Fourteen**

Foxface went down under Harry's boot _at speed_ , and the Gryffindor was already running back the way he came before the rest of his compatriots realised what was even going on. He apparated mid-stride, and flickered back into the middle of their room at the wayhouse.

Empty. Harry whirled around in distress, the suitcase was gone, their belongings were still there, just to avoid suspicion from the muggle cleaners, and – _note_.

He snatched it up and scanned it quickly before cursing under his breath, and apparating again.

He whirled into place at the mouth of the magical district, almost upsetting a few English gentlemen and what looked like one of the Chinese Ministry's officials as he sped past them with an apologetic shout, sprinting through the stalls frantically, frantically searching for that – one – flash – of _blue_ -

There!

Newt was stood just inside one of the alleys, confronted with a pair of unpleasant looking men. They were shorter, but a lot broader than the lanky Hufflepuff as Harry sped forward – there was a knife in one's hand, and a wand in the other's.

"Newt! Down!" the Gryffindor barked as he jumped.

The Hufflepuff ducked as Harry sailed over him, planting his foot into Knife's face and riding him down to the ground, stamping on his skull hard enough to break his nose and knock him unconscious even as the Gryffindor pivoted and kicked the legs out from under Wand. He went down, and then out when Harry punched him in the temple.

"You alright?" he asked his husband breathlessly, eyes flicking over him carefully as he shook his hand out. Not even a loose thread, good.

"Yes, what's going on? Those men said you'd been hurt," he explained, upset as he caught Harry's arm, eyes searching him in much the same way for injuries.

"Probably to get you to come with them. They're Triads, Newt. Organised crime. I've gotten you caught up in something annoying again," the auror explained with a grimace as he roughly kicked one of the men. "They got pissed off about a westerner having access to phoenix product. Ah shit, here come more! Let's go!" he exclaimed, grabbing Newt's hand as he caught sight of the same group of men that cornered his earlier apparating into the market – and suddenly the whole place was freaking out.

The two raced into the chaos of screaming stall owners and panicked customers, apparently any incursion of Triads was one to be hysterically terrified of apparently.

Harry vanished the cage around a small flock of doxies as they ran past, several beekeeping charms falling from his lips as he hit them with an attractor, and then slapped the first of the Wo Hop's trying to corner them with the attractant – the man's head was suddenly plastered with the furiously biting poisonous insects. He went down screaming as Harry and Newt passed, skidding down between two stalls on the right.

Newt animated the wall-scrolls in the next stall to snatch up another Triad. Hoisting him into the air, and tying him up like a scene from a horror movie.

Harry vanished a glass tank around a nest of venomous pit vipers, " _Attack the big two leg with the scale markings!_ " he commanded shortly. Snakes couldn't really differentiate human from human without someone there to physically point them at a target, so Harry could only thank the Triads for being so copiously tattooed and making his life easier as three vipers suddenly lunged at one of the men following them.

He screamed, and both Harry and Newt had to duck and dive into one of the stalls as a hex shattered one of the wooden support poles.

The Hufflepuff worked quickly, transfiguration wasn't his strong point, but inanimate to _animate_? There was no one actually better in his entire year group, because he was the only one who knew creatures from the inside out.

Which was probably why the Triad member that tore the fallen canvas cover of their stall off with a little too colourful spell suddenly screamed in horror when a pygmy Ukranian Ironbelly lunged at him.

It was absolute chaos in the market place, only made worse as suddenly Chinese law enforcement apparated in, and an all-out war kicked off between the crime family and the aurors. Even those English men were joining in the fight, much to the official guiding them's horror as he practically cowered behind – Harry very nearly tripped as he and Newt raced down another gap between stalls.

That was his grandfather. Charlus Potter.

His inattention cost him.

A blasting curse clipped him in the shoulder and he went flying.

Winded, he managed to twist in the air and get his feet under him, wrapping charms around himself as he hit the ground, _serpensortia_ summoning multiple cobras, pit vipers, and coral snakes to his defence as he came to a stop – physically throwing one of them at the Triad that he had been blasted at.

Harry whipped around – just in time to see Foxface hug Newt from behind and vanish in a flash of apparation.

 _ **000**_

The temper of a Gryffindor was something to be feared, _and Harry was now out for blood_.

The next Triad that went for him was unceremoniously grabbed bare handed by the throat and slammed into the floor, hard enough to choke him. He began to hyperventilate as Harry hissed long, low, and lividly at him, the snakes wrapped around him slithering free to drape over the Chinese man's body.

" _You're going to tell me where that foxfaced dog has taken my husband, or I will make you_ beg _for a death I will ensure you never receive_ ," he promised darkly in sibilant Chinese as one of the pit-vipers bared its fangs within his eye-line.

The man gibbered fearfully, blurting out an address not far from the Magic quarter, unable to tear his eyes away from the viper as it slithered up his chest to wrap around Harry's forearm lovingly. Harry bared his teeth unpleasantly, instincts thrumming. He had to be _certain_. He wasn't going to allow for another Sirius situation. He rummaged in his pocket for his potions kit. After the incident in Africa with the poachers, he had made sure to brew some truth serum up, just in case. He hadn't thought he would need to use it so soon, but it was just his luck now, wasn't it?

He stabbed the phial into the side of the man's skull. The glass shattered, sharp, jagged edges slicing through tattooed skin as Harry purposefully dragged it down his face, shredding his flesh and introducing the potion directly to his bloodstream.

The man screamed in pain, the potion _burning_ in the open wounds. Which was why Harry had done it that way in the first place.

" _Where. Has your. Organisation. Taken. My._ _Husband_ _?_ " he repeated again, slowly.

The man sobbed as he blurted out the answer, an address significantly closer to the docks than previously given – much to the man's horror when he realised. The Gryffindor smirked nastily as he deflected several spells without looking, the two of them were on the ground between a pair of stalls, largely out of sight of the all out war occurring overhead. But one of the man's compatriots must have seen them, well, he wasn't seeing much of anything right now given how Harry had reflected those spells straight back at him. The triad was sweating like a pig, his eyes darting everywhere wildly as Harry ruthlessly wrung him for information, what kind of building he would be in, what was in there, how many people, what wards, spells, enchantments, back doors, secret passages, who ran the place, where would Newt be held inside, etc.

Harry practically purred in satisfaction as he got to his feet. He had everything he needed.

" _Thank you for your cooperation_ ," he mocked before _booting_ the man in the head hard enough to knock him unconscious immediately.

A wand lit up a few inches from his right, one of the Chinese aurors glaring at him, " _You are under arrest for civil disturbance, duelling in a public location, destruction of property, and theft. Hand over your wand, High Nose!_ " he commanded nastily.

The Gryffindor treated him to the most disdainful look he could muster, taken directly from Narcissa Malfoy. He hissed at the snakes still wrapped around him, the real ones slithering away to escape within the chaos, and the conjured ones he created vanishing into wisps of smoke.

"Mei," he called, turning away from the now gaping auror entirely, ignoring him as the phoenix flamed into the air on his left with an eager trill, " _Some men have taken Newt, bring me to him?_ "

Little berry black eyes widened, and the phoenix trilled furiously, she puffed herself up angrily before swooping down, digging her claws into Harry's shoulder, and flashed them away in a blaze of scarlet and gold flame.

Completely unaware of the political shitstorm they had just caused.

 _ **000**_

Not very good at fighting, these Triad people, Newt decided as he jogged down the warehouse corridor as silently as he could. The gentleman in the red had apparated him into a dark, unpleasantly dirty little room, but had been completely unprepared for the elbow the Hufflepuff introduced to the bridge of his nose – or the point blank stunning charm that followed.

He could hear the familiar sound of creatures near-by, defensive and aggressive calls and shrieks, Chinese shouts and calls, the smell of potions and blood was thick in the air as he followed the long corridor down. The warehouse was a bleak thing, _huge_ , flavoured and warped at the edges with poorly cast expansion charms, it wouldn't take much to bring them down, Newt noticed with an unhappy grimace. He would have to be careful in his escape.

A shout went up behind him, a pair of men at the other end of the corridor, the gentleman in the red with a bloody face and a furious snarl between them pointing at him.

Newt picked up the pace, skidding around one of the metal corners and – into the biggest Potions Black Market he had ever seen.

It was largely empty save for the vendors, but there were caged upon _cages upon_ _ **cages**_ of beasts and creatures, rows of plants, pots, clippings, bottles, stands, from floor to expanded ceiling with multiple levels and rope-bridges crisscrossing the ceiling.

Newt dove in, unlocking cages as he went.

Summoning charms ripped wands from startled vendors, unlocking charms, vanishing charms, it was absolute _anarchy_.

And if Newt was perhaps a little more vicious in his spell casting towards a few of those stall owners, he doubted any of the creatures there would be upset to see them battered, trussed up, and crammed into the cages they once were trapped in. He was in a fine temper by the time he reached the biggest of the cages, a tired, badly injured Chinese Fireball piled up on itself within the tiny confines. And of _course_ it was a lock he couldn't spell open, none of the charms he knew worked, and even levitation manipulation of the pins inside wasn't working.

The dragon's mouth was belted shut so tightly he could see where it had barely been able to breathe, the thick reinforced leather _cutting_ into its scarlet hide.

And that was the scene Harry flashed into, Mei on one shoulder.

Chaos, Newt pissed off, creatures running around everywhere, terrified Chinese, and a fireball in bad shape in a cage that wouldn't open no matter what.

"Go deal with the Triads! I'll handle the creatures!" Harry commanded, "Mei, help him," he told the little phoenix who chirruped and fluttered to Newt's shoulder.

The Hufflepuff nodded, he set his suitcase down next to Harry, and moved off. Neither of them would be able to calm all these poor animals down and get them medical help if those – those _bastards_ were throwing spells left and right.

While Newt rampaged, Harry simply conjured acid and melted the hinges of the cage door, lifting the whole thing free from the lock with minimal effort. He ducked in fearlessly as he climbed over the dragon's coiled body to reach its face, murmuring soothing nonsense as he began to carefully cut the belt off from where it had become embedded into the dragon's muzzle, his fingers wouldn't have the strength to pick it out and unbuckle it.

It was slow going, cutting the belt, from the corner of his eye he could see Newt rampaging through the warehouse, hunting down each and every human inside with ruthless efficiency. Well, he _had_ been in a war, his ability to keep his head in such a madhouse was very good.

" **sS** _There we go_ , **Ss** " Harry said as he finally cut the last of the belt off, and _carefully_ oh so carefully, peeled it out of the dragon's face. " **sS** _Now if you could please not kill me, let's get you in the suitcase and settled down somewhere comfortable. How does that sound? A nice big bucket of something meaty and bloody, all the whiskey you can stomach, and no more cold metal bars,_ **Ss** " he continued to croon, as the dragon gingerly opened and closed its mouth, a little bit at first, and then more and more until it was comfortably snapping its jaws with only small hisses of pain.

" **sS** _My eggs. They have taken my eggs,_ **Ss** " _she_ hissed at him, nearly making Harry fall off from where he had been perched on her back.

" **sS** _Holy shit you can talk?!_ **Ss** " Harry yelped, before slapping himself. Never mind that, nesting mother dragon whose eggs had been stolen. That was _bad_. " **sS** _Right, stupid question. Let's go get them back,_ **Ss** " he declared strongly as he swung his leg off the dragon and drew both wands.

Mei flamed in beside him with a trill, landing on his shoulder a split second before he _tore_ the cage from its base, shattering it open like an egg, and allowing the mother dragon to stretch out to her full size with a _roar_.

The sound of the dragon breaking free lit a _fire_ under the people still remaining, screaming filled the air as the anti-apparation wards began to work against them in the tight confines. Frantic, terrified, and furious creatures filling the air, and attacking them as they desperately tried to scramble for safety – and Newt, prowling through the shadows, locking them into the very cages they had once housed their merchandise with ruthless satisfaction.

Foxface screamed something foul at him, a savage light of satisfaction in his eyes, he couldn't hear it over the ringing in his ears from the mother's scream, but the man's bloodied face stuck out in Harry's mind because he knew that ruin was something that Newt had done to him. And he couldn't help but laugh, fierce and proud, at the very idea. It served him right.

Whatever Foxface was thinking when he realised that the fireball wasn't going to be attacking the English wizard, Harry didn't know, because in that exact moment he flung his whole body forward and _tore_ into the Chinese man with a vengeance.

" _Where are the dragon eggs?_ " he demanded shortly, gripping the broken criminal by the front of his blood covered robes.

" _Sssuck y-your mother's dog fart o-out,_ " Foxface wheezed viciously.

Harry tipped his head a little in amusement before presenting him to the dragon, " _How about you try to suck hers?_ " he asked cheerfully, watching the man's eyes contract in terror as the fireball huffed at him.

" _They are kept in incubation. Back of the warehouse. You won't get there alive, high nose, if you think_ she _is the worst we have here –_ "

Harry felt it then. The familiar creeping touch of cold mist, nails on his heart. Like bad static in his ears, his mother screaming, Hermione under cruciatus, Molly sobbing on Fred's broken body.

He gave the Chinese man a look of disdain, " _You stupid pig-fart. You really think a Dementor is going to do much more than bore me? I'm from England. We regularly put criminals in prisons manned by these creatures,_ " he exclaimed with a scoff even as he hurled a patronus out, and immediately felt the cold diminish.

Foxface fell into thin lipped furious silence, and Harry rolled his eyes before banishing him harshly into one of the small cages, locking and fusing it shut.

" **sS** _Your eggs should be towards the back of this metal burrow,_ **Ss** " he told the dragon, taking off at a run with the great beast barrelling in his wake, heedless to her bulk destroying various stalls as she forced her way through the narrow rickety passages between them. Mei piped encouragingly to them as she swooped on up ahead, flipping in the air every now and again to make sure they were keeping up before she would dart down another path, leading them to the back of the warehouse.

The incubator was little more than a huge fireplace at the back of the building, a kiln stolen from a muggle artisan, now used to store dragon eggs.

Of the fireball's twenty three eggs, only seven remained.

 _ **000**_

Newt was not a man of anger.

It took a lot to upset him, but mild frustration was as great as it got. He had only been driven to rage a few times in his life; not long after he was expelled from Hogwarts, his brother had been ranting about the evils of Slytherins, of Leta in particular, and told Newt about his letter threatening the Lestranges with a blood-feud if ever that woman came near him again. Newt had screamed at him, furious, hurt, confused, why would his brother do something like that to the girl he loved? Leta didn't mean – it must have been for a good reason – she wouldn't have just – he never _heard_ her side of the story! And, being a Slytherin, and a Lestrange, her punishment would have been worse! Newt got off lightly because he was from a neutral family and – it was better that he had been blamed instead of her! Theseus hadn't known how to react to that, but he had told their parents, and it was their father that sat down to talk Newt out of his sullen stony silence. To help him untangle himself. And for _years_ he had allowed Leta to be a festering blackened wound in his chest. But apart from that one time, she had never been able to stir his temper, to her defence or to tear her down.

Once during the war, that was the incident he considered his most shameful. The one and only time he had ever cast an Unforgivable. He had snuck into the war, and found himself shuffled to the Eastern Front when he displayed more than a passing knowledge of animal husbandry, originally he was just a field medic for the Hippogriff cavalry. He had been the one to sooth the battle weary and frightened birds, patch them up, tend to their hurts, and in the end, he had to be the one to say whether or not they could be taken back into battle or not. He learned to stop saying they shouldn't go back when their rations got tighter, and those birds that couldn't be ridden, ended up being eaten. He had caught his commanding officer _brutally_ beating his injured hippogriff when the shell-shocked bird wouldn't obey him, wouldn't fly back out onto the front lines. Newt couldn't remember what he said, but the Ukrainian was a generally unpleasant man who was liberal with his curses, when the Hippogriff _screamed_ – Newt made the man scream with it. He didn't even remember pulling his wand, or casting the spell. But he remembered the black eye he received and the promise of facing the gallows for insubordination that followed. It never happened. His hippogriff took a mortar. They both went down and...

The latest was Harry, that cliff, even to this day the very thought that if he hadn't been so _lucky_ that Harry might have been – it chilled him to the bone and made his blood burn furiously.

But this? What he was seeing in this place was definitely setting his teeth on edge. His jaw _ached_ from clenching them as he viciously took out every single person he saw. For every species of beautiful creature he saw in terrible condition, another one of those fiends ended up in their own cages.

He was fairly sure he had managed to get them all, but he had yet to see the gentleman in the red who had first abducted him, though if he were right in his assumptions, the man had probably gone after Harry as soon as he arrived.

With all the humans locked up, the warehouse seemed to have calmed down from absolute anarchy to a general chaos that was just typical of frightened animals in enclosed spaces, a kind of pent up energy that was slowly bleeding off now that the primary threat was gone. It helped that Newt could hear Mei singing towards the back of the warehouse, attracting those creatures with neutral and light affinities, and repelling those with darker or more demonic natures.

The last thing Newt expected to see was a Dementor.

He cast around, spotting a bottle, he snatched it up and cast a vacuum charm on it as he lunged for the creature.

Ice immediately began to mist on the bottle as the demon turned to claw at Newt as he held the bottle out, sucking it into the glass. It's flesh was cold, clammy, and a little wet, like a corpse pulled from water. He grimaced as a sharp nail scored a line on his cheek, cutting his skin.

And then with a pop, it was in the bottle – and trapped as he shoved a cork in the top, and began to ward it to hell and beyond. That was one dementor that would not get getting out and about!

Setting the jar down, he continued winding his way through the shattered shanty town of market stalls, eventually he found Harry.

The Gryffindor was at the back of the warehouse in an oasis of calm amongst the creatures, a Chinese fireball curled up behind him, a tiny clutch of seven eggs between her forelegs, Mei was sat on his shoulder singing comfortingly as he gently rubbed ointment into the sore painful looking skin of a half-naked demiguise. In his lap was a niffler tightly wrapped in a slightly bloodied towel, clinging desperately to a shiny silver coin with both hands and feet, shivering violently as it practically burrowed into the back of his knee. All around him were various creatures, birds, and insects just sitting or lying down and basking in the phoenix' song.

"Careful Newt," the Gryffindor murmured just loud enough to be heard without startling the creatures around him, "The crups are rather aggressive right now. I haven't had a chance to deal with them," he explained gently even as he continued to carefully tend to the trembling demiguise that watched the slowly approaching Hufflepuff with wide, terrified blue eyes.

It did not, however, move when the mythozoologist bent over to kiss Harry's forehead, taking a moment to just close his eyes and reassure himself the Gryffindor hadn't been harmed (he was aware he was worrying over a very, _very_ small chance, out of the two of them he was more likely to get hurt in a fight, but he couldn't help but worry all the same). Harry continued to work, even as Newt sat down next to him, practically draping his longer limbs around the young man as he conjured bandages to wrap around the demiguise so he wouldn't end up licking the ointment off. Instead of skittering away, the demiguise hopped up onto Harry's knee and then around onto Newt's, shifting so he wouldn't be in the way, but so he could continue to hug himself up against the Gryffindor's side.

Harry trilled lightly, mimicking Mei for a moment before he gently levitated one of the crups into his lap, the creature whining and shaking fearfully even as the former auror gently stroked and patted it until it calmed before beginning to examine its injuries. Newt rested his chin on Harry's shoulder, the side that Mei hadn't taken up, and had to hug the man from behind.

Gentle was perhaps the last word Newt would have thought the auror after the last few months, but he couldn't – he had _seen_ it with the young runespoor, but quite forgotten until now. Until he watched the man calm and tend to all of the tortured souls here.

"Newt, you're better at bone setting than me. Can you see to this little guy's fore-leg? It's a clean snap, looks more like they didn't want him able to run away very quickly if he got out before they could sell him. It should be a quick fix, but the tissue damage will take longer," the Gryffindor explained, soothing the animal as it whined in pain. Newt kissed the side of his neck, just under his ear.

"Of course," he agreed, and together they worked their way through the rest of the creatures in front of them.

 _ **000**_

Harry wondered why the Chinese aurors hadn't caught up with them yet, but paid it no mind as he and Newt _scoured_ the rest of the blackmarket for any creatures left behind or unable to escape. Thus far they found more doxies, a room that had Newt turning around and walking straight back out in tears – Harry took one look and closed the door firmly, sick to his stomach. The Chinese really would eat anything.

Harry found a _basilisk_ breeder, much to his horror, and smashed every egg before releasing the toads into the suitcase to try and find a place to live, or get eaten, which ever. They found several kneazles in some very sorry looking states at a breeding stall. Newt was tending to them as there was nothing that Harry could particularly do.

Which brought him to a rather large cage with a tree inside of it.

A tree that really should have had more than just the four bowtruckles on it.

Harry glanced to the stall it was attached to and cringed to see vegetables, meat, a chopping board with spices and herbs, and a large wok next to a soup pot.

Trying to spell the lock open was futile though.

He sighed, and looked up at the bowtruckle who were clustered in the highest reaches of the tree, watching him fearfully.

"Who wants to learn how to pick a lock?" he asked the four remaining creatures before producing a long thin length of metal and sliding it into the lock. Curiously, the smallest of the four crept a little closer, "if you know how to move the pins and the balls inside these locks," Harry explained patiently as he fiddled, "Then it doesn't matter what kind of locking charms they put on the cage door, you can always – _open_ it!" he announced cheerfully as with a click, and a tug, the door opened.

The littlest bowtruckle burbled at him, and Harry grinned, holding a finger out to him, "I'll teach you how later, get you some padlocks so you can try it yourself, yeah?" he offered, waiting patiently for the little fellow to decide whether or not he wanted to trust Harry.

Eventually though, he warily climbed onto the Gryffindor's fingers, and Harry pulled him from the cage – only to set him down on top of it, instead of the chopping board on the table where he had no doubt seen many of his siblings meet their ends. With the littlest having proven his trustworthiness, the other three bowtruckles were _somewhat_ easier to remove, and pop on top of the cage along with the first. Harry ended up having to bend the cage bars open and levitate their tree out though, he knew enough about the little insect creatures to know they didn't do so well without their hometree.

Almost immediately they were back onto it, peeping and burbling happily at each other as Harry conducted them down the broken alleyways towards Newt's case.

The bandaged demiguise was perched watchfully on the lip of the case waiting for him and practically lit up in relief, Harry chuckled and willingly opened an arm to allow the creature to climb his leg and perch itself on his hip like a child.

"How do you feel about having some neighbours?" he asked.

 _ **000**_

 **TA'DAH!**

 **And here we have the rescuing of Pickett, Dougal, AND the niffler!**

 **Still got the Erumpet, and Frank the thunderbird to go, but I have plans for them. Ahahaha, poor Charlus, Harry's caused a bit of a ruckus with the Chinese Ministry regarding the fact he's a Parselmouth, AND bonded to a Phoenix. That's going to be fun.**


	15. Chapter 15

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Fifteen**

It took him and Newt the better part of the day to strip the blackmarket of its creatures and supplies, getting all of the creatures settled into the Hufflepuff's suitcase, fed, watered, and tended to. They left the triads and their customers in their cages, Newt taking a moment to be smugly satisfied when he saw the gentleman in red crammed into a particularly small one looking decidedly worse for wear.

They left the illegal potion supplies, products that would get them in a lot of trouble to possess, but they took the rest, managing to increase their raw-meat stores by fifteen fold thankfully, otherwise they were going to run into some severe logistical problems when it came to keeping the creatures fed.

The only issue came when Newt began to _name_ their rescuees.

"Newt, you can't name them," Harry told him in exasperation as he levitated another box of dry goods and feed into the suitcase.

"But – he looks like such a 'Dougal'," the Hufflepuff explained, cradling the friendly demiguise who had decided to cling to him as Harry was busy.

"You'll get attached," Harry warned, "And then letting go will be so much harder. Bad enough you've named all of the fwoopers, and now the bowtruckles."

"You named Mei, and the dragon!" Newt retorted indignantly.

Harry snorted, "Scarlet Flower already _had_ a name, that's just the most understandable translation I can give you. Her name is a lot closer to ' _the glow of light through scarlet flowers at the water's edge in sunset_ ' or something," he explained, levitating another box down, "And Mei pecked me every time I called her a menace."

Newt snorted, and continued to name their creatures while Harry rolled his eyes.

 _ **000**_

Mei flashed them back to the wayhouse after Harry tore open half of the wards on the warehouse (making sure to leave the anti-apparation ones in place). They were both dirty, and exhausted, so while Newt prepared a quick bath, Harry warded their room up to the eyeballs – floor, ceiling, windows, door, the lot. Unless you were invited in, you weren't _getting_ in.

After that, they washed in a way that could be _barely_ be called perfunctory, before crawling into their hotel bedding and passing out completely, cuddled up together, and completely unaware of the outside world.

Neither of them roused until well into the afternoon the next day.

Harry woke first, like usual, somehow they had gone from Newt being wrapped around Harry, to facing one another, holding hands, their legs tangled up together. It was nice though. Harry blinked slowly, shifting his head slightly so he could see the Hufflepuff's face a bit better. He looked so much younger when he was sleeping; there was a tiny nick out of his right ear too, just on the very tip, like a spell had winged him, and just clipped it; on his chin was a tiny hair-thin line, so pale on his skin it was almost unseen, matching the one he could see just under his left eye; he also had a lot of freckles, but there was one _really_ dark one on his right cheek that just... Harry smiled, fascinated even as he slipped a hand free of the Hufflepuff's grasp to cup his cheek, gently smoothing a thumb over that one slightly discoloured freckle.

Newt inhaled deeply, wrinkling his nose a little, like a rabbit, much to Harry's delight as he watched the man slowly return to the land of the living. Green-brown eyes fluttered open, blinking, before closing again. Harry grinned as the Hufflepuff shifted, getting a bit more comfortable again, leaning into his touch, before seemingly dropping back into sleep.

That was actually an excellent idea, the Gryffindor decided moving his hand so he could shift a little closer and get comfortable. He pressed a brief kiss to the Hufflepuff's forehead, and then dragged the blankets a little more firmly around himself. More sleep sounded divine.

He felt Newt's arm shift and slide around his hip and up his back, fingers splayed between his shoulderblades. Lips found his collarbone, and Harry sleepily felt himself being rolled onto his back, Newt's mouth hot and wet on his collar and neck.

He shifted under the taller man, trying to find somewhere comfortable for his legs that wouldn't have a kneecap crushing his shin, only to inhale sharply and jerk a little in surprise when the Hufflepuff sank his teeth into his neck tendon. "Are you trying to chew my jugular out?" he asked roughly, feeling him lick up the length of his throat and latch on to his windpipe, just under his jaw.

Newt hummed lazily, biting and sucking at Harry's neck, making the Gryffindor gasp every now and again as he bit down a little too hard to be comfortable.

"If you're trying to write your name in hickies – " Harry murmured, unable to stop his lips from twitching as he felt Newt slump a little against him before shifting up and sealing their mouths together.

"Stop talking, Harry," he pleaded against the Gryffindor's lips making Harry laugh wickedly, and then yelp when a hand slapped against his thigh.

"Cheeky – " the Gryffindor growled as Newt snickered and kissed him again.

Newt trailed his hands up Harry's sides to pull at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling before just pulling, popping them off much to the Gryffindor's amusement. It was nothing a quick _repairo_ couldn't solve. He kissed his way down Harry's bruised neck, and nipped at his chest, paying particular attention to the small coin shaped brand just beneath his collarbones, enjoying the way his breathing began to quicken and shake.

He followed the long scar from shoulder to hip, taking his time, circling a nipple with his tongue before sucking on it, teasing it between his teeth to hear Harry moan.

He dragged his tongue down to Harry's navel, nuzzling into his abdomen as slowly, _agonisingly slowly_ , he began to ease the Gryffindor's trousers down.

Someone knocked on the door.

And the two of them froze, meeting one another's eyes.

"Ignore it," Harry commanded roughly.

Newt licked his lips, tempted, _oh so tempted_ to agree with him, but then they knocked again, much more insistently.

"It might be important?" the Hufflepuff offered weakly even as he pushed himself upright.

Harry made a sound that was half anger, half pain, and Newt couldn't have agreed more as he stared down at the very hot and bothered former auror under him. But still. They had done something... rather naughty yesterday, what with the riot in the market, and then taking out a blackmarket, dropping the wards, and leaving the Chinese officials to clean up the mess after making off with ninety-nine percent of all the goods on sale.

They really should answer the door.

He reluctantly left the bed, and quickly made his way over while Harry grumped and kicked the blankets off.

"Hello?" Newt asked as he slid the door open, a Chinese official was stood just outside in heavily embroidered dark blue robes. His eyes widened dramatically as he stared, and Newt realised he hadn't worn a shirt. He slid the door shut a little to hide, flushing. He wasn't ashamed of his scars per-say, he just... he knew how others reacted to them, and while Harry was thus far the biggest exception to the norm, seemingly just not noticing them to such a degree that Newt too tended to forget them as well, the same could not be said of others who... often had bad reactions.

"May I help you?" he tried again with an awkward smile as he tried to hide under his hair.

The official seemed to shake himself a tad before bowing formally and babbling something. Newt swallowed, "Uhh, you wouldn't happen to speak English, would you?" he asked nervously, only for the official to just stare at him. "Right. Um, Harry? I – can you come here for a moment?"

"Is it important?" he retorted grumpily.

"I'm afraid I don't know. My Chinese is, well, somewhat lacking," he admitted a little shamefully. He heard Harry groan, and then the rustle of their bedding as he got to his feet, grumbling about how the mood was now _definitely_ dead, he sighed in agreement as the Gryffindor came up to his side – ironically wearing the very shirt Newt should have been, his buttonless one abandoned on the floor no doubt.

He paused as soon as he saw the man on the doorstep, "Why on earth is there an envoy for the emperor _here_?" he demanded before snapping out in rapid fire Chinese, scowling at the man watching him with star-struck reverence as he marched over to lean against the doorframe beside the Hufflepuff. Newt pressed his lips into a worried line, shifting to wrap one arm around Harry's waist as he accepted a _very_ ornate and beautiful scroll from the messenger who simpered something with a bow (and shot an unpleasant look in his direction, what in Merlin's name?). Harry hummed darkly, unhappy as he began to unlace the scroll and then unravel it. Newt blinked, that was real gold. The scroll handles were made of gold and inlaid with mother of pearl, the scroll itself was perhaps the most high-quality thing he had ever seen, creamy white, and shimmering with golden inks, and designs in blues, greens, and a whole _lot_ of red.

The worrying thing was how Harry's scowl darkened as he continued to read before he looked up at the official, and said a single word before shoving the scroll into Newt's chest, and stalking back into their room.

"What?" the mythozoologist blurted even as he heard a loud bang from where Harry had gone.

"Start packing Newt, we're leaving," the Gryffindor announced sharply.

He glanced at the official who looked scandalised, and offended, "Uh, what – what happened?" he asked helplessly.

Harry muttered a dark curse, "The Chinese Emperor has seen fit to bestow me with an invitation into his household, as one of his _many concubines_ ," he spat.

"Abso _lutely_ not," Newt found himself blurting indignantly before the words even fully managed to register, looking down at the missive frantically, to try and understand something _anything_ on the fancy missive. "Why? You're already married, and, I would have thought they'd be trying to arrest us after yesterday?" he exclaimed as he shot a deeply suspicious look at the man glaring at him on the otherside of the door – he couldn't actually come in without one of them inviting him, and neither of them was going to change that.

There was another loud thud, "If the gist of the characters leads me right, it's purely because I'm a Parselmouth and chosen by a Phoenix. Hurry up. I figure we can hide on the ship for the next two days, at least until we're due to leave."

Newt dragged a hand through his hair, and left the scroll on the table before heading towards his suitcase in order to get dressed, "What if they come looking for us on the ship?" he asked nervously.

"You're a British national, and if they haven't tried to arrest you yet then I doubt they can. Charlus Potter was at that market place when it all kicked off," Harry explained as he laced up his boots, he was scowling violently in disgust, and even the hairs on his arms were stood up straight with how unsettled he was.

Newt quickly crossed the room and kissed him. Harry was spooked, more than he should have been, and it was putting Newt on edge too.

"We'll be fine, Harry," he murmured, pressing their foreheads together, rubbing the Gryffindor's arms comfortingly.

The former auror grimaced, "Sorry. I have a bad habit of getting wound up when the whole Parselmouth thing gets brought up. It's brought nothing but _grief_ since I was a child. I would be quite happy to see the bloody thing die out but..." he shrugged a shoulder aggressively before pausing, "Is that guy _still_ there?" he growled before shouting something in Chinese as Newt pulled away.

The envoy replied somewhat nervously, and Harry made a sound of disgust before he stuck his hands into Newt's pocket, digging out a pen. The Hufflepuff stepped back and gathered their things, giving Harry the space he needed to write something short on the scroll and practically launch it at the envoy's head with a short snappy statement before the door slammed shut.

He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, "Could have handled that better. Shit, that's going to piss him off," he complained before snatching up one of the backpacks. "Let's go."

 _ **000**_

There were palace guards at the docks, drawing more than a few looks of surprise and disgust from the local muggle population. After all, it had only been about thirteen years since the muggles overthrew their emperor and the Republic of China, a communist party, took over the country. The magicals had watched the goings on with great disgust, and clung to their emperor with both hands. Only those born with the Divine Wind could be emperor, or empress, and it mattered little when it came to succession as only one person could possess the inheritable gift at a time. Upon the death of the previous emperor or empress, it would pass onto one of his or her children, or siblings, whomever was best suited to the talent. Then they would be chosen to lead the Chinese people.

Harry scowled from the alleyway they were hiding in, "What the hell is this? They going to try and force us to stay?" he hissed furiously, hackles raised. Newt's hand on the back of his neck was the only thing stopping him from going out and banging their heads together, giving him at least a modicum of grounding for his temper. They couldn't even apparate onto the ship, wards had been raised over the entire harbour somewhen in the night before they'd even woken up. And while, yes, Harry could punch through them if he pushed it hard enough, but the chances of splinching, and losing track of their destination became much much higher if he did. And if that did happen, Newt would be the most at risk as the side-along. Neither of them were particularly keen on that particular plan.

"We could sneak onboard, how good are your glamours?" Newt asked, peering over his shoulder eyeing the men.

"Not good enough to fool that," Harry grunted, pointing towards an ornate hand device that one of the guards was passing over everyone in the crowd, "Lights up glamours like a beacon, up to and including Polyjuice Potion. We had a few commissioned in my department a few years before I ended up here. Great fun. Knockturn didn't know what hit it."

Even as he said it, they saw a young man getting practically dog-piled by the guards who tore his glamours off out of muggle sight, revealing a man much older than he should have been covered in tattoos that indicated he was part of the same Wo Hop To group that had caused them so much trouble earlier.

"I thought you couldn't pull a Polyjuice Potion off like a glamour?" the mythozoologist observed as the criminal was searched and several potions liberated from his person.

"You can," Harry admitted, "It's just hellishly difficult and finicky. You need a light touch with charms, and the power to back it up. It helps that it isn't a very well known flaw to the potion, so people _very_ rarely even attempt to try removing it with a simple _revelio_."

Newt hummed before sighing and continuing their previous conversation, "We can't risk just going over in case they try to use force. Neither of us would go quietly, and it _is_ a muggle area," the Hufflepuff concluded grimly. If the statute of secrecy broke because of their actions, nothing the British ministry could do would protect them, and that would likely mean prison time for Newt, and the 'honour' of concubinage for Harry. Newt's fingers twitched on the back of the Gryffindor's neck at the thought, it would kill him, that kind of life. Not that prison would be much better for Newt, but for Harry... it would destroy him down to the soul to be chained down in such a fashion against his will.

But where to go from here? They couldn't call Mei in the middle of a muggle street. And they had no way of getting onto the ship with every entrance under watch. While they had been in Tibet, Newt _had_ given thought to just hiking their way overland and sparing Harry the pain of ship travel. The Gryffindor told him not to be so stupid, he would be fine, and they couldn't exactly waste the time, could they? Not when his manuscript was due before April 1927. Newt still had a lot of research to do in Northern Africa before returning to England to rewrite, edit, composite, and then print his book. Once Fantastic Beasts had been published, the plan was for the both of them to go travelling again. Take another 'sabbatical', further _years_ in the field to compile a complete bestiary for every continent, with as many magical creatures therein they could find.

Harry cursed softly, pressing a hand to his eyes, "I have an idea. You probably won't like it. Come on," he said gruffly, grabbing Newt's hand and pulling him away, deeper into the alleyway.

"What sort of idea?" Newt asked nervously as Harry pulled him into a small empty little allotment, and immediately started flicking spells up and around. "What am I not going to like?" he growled, frowning at the Gryffindor. If he came up with something that sounded like it came directly from Theseus's playbook, he was going to stun the man, stick him in his suitcase, and _hike_ to Africa.

Harry 'ahhhh'ed while digging through his auror robe pockets, "Auror play. Disguise and Infiltration. I got pretty high marks, definitely surprised the instructor. Here, hold this," he requested, handing Newt a _violently_ pink and mauve bag. The mythozoologist blinked down at the offensively bright coloured bag before looking at Harry as he pulled out several potions, "Drink this. Colour changer, and hair lengthener."

Newt opened his mouth, unable to actually formulate a reply to that as Harry wrinkled his nose in understanding, nodding sympathetically. He put his suitcase down, and chugged the potions.

The Gryffindor conjured a chair and practically pushed him into it, "First piece of advise when you're being hunted, and trying to fly under the radar. Change a core aspect of yourself. If your hair is long, cut it. If you're short, wear heels. If you're thin, wear padding," he explained factually as he gathered up Newt's steadily lengthening dark ginger red hair. Newt blinked through his fringe in surprise, that was Prewett red. And Harry was cutting it, wand flicking in the corner of his eye as strands of shiny red hair floated to the floor. "Right now, the Chinese are looking for two young English men, both with short hair, a tall brown haired man, and a short black haired one. Fastest way to go unnoticed is to change one, _or all_ of those particulars."

Harry rounded him to eye the haircut before nodding and flicking his wand carefully, styling it with a few careful charms, he then opened up the violently coloured bag. Newt gaped to see the sea of _make-up_ within.

"No one is going to look very hard at a pair of women when they're looking for a pair of men," Harry explained further as he snatched up a brush and a powder compact. "Close your eyes and don't move," he said, and, unable to think up an argument, Newt did as he was told (did this mean Harry was going to dress up as well?). It... did make some sense. Newt was still uncomfortable with the idea though. What if they got caught? His brother would never let him live it down. He could just picture it now, years later at Christmas dinner ' _Remember the time you got arrested in China dressed as a woman?_ ', and just the look on his mother's face every time it was brought up.

"Done," Harry declared suddenly, startling Newt into opening his eyes and – oh.

It was... _his_ face but... softer. It seemed so strangely bare and pale without his freckles, powder hiding his tan, the faint scars, his red hair was styled carefully in keeping with American fashions, and hiding the nick to his ear. His eyes were framed with the slightest flick of black kohl and a dusting of blue powder that changed the colour of his eyes from hazel-green to an almost aqua shade, his mouth a thin thread of scarlet as a change in the colour of powders made his face look just a shade wider and more oval than it was.

Harry tapped his clothing, making the Hufflepuff squawk as suddenly there were things going into locations that had never experienced such discomfort before. His trousers became silky ash-coloured stockings, boots became black leather pattens, his shirt became a silk slip, his blue coat a long knee-length cotton dress of the same colour with his waistcoat turning into a silk shawl patterned with black and white sparrows, and swallows. He looked... remarkably like a young lady he once met while on leave in the war, actually.

The change was quite staggering, really.

He looked down to where Harry was busily styling his now long black hair into sausage curls with a red and white lace ribbon in a conjured mirror.

"Are we to just... walk on the ship, looking like this?" Newt asked, a little at a loss.

"Yes," Harry stated, "Don't worry though, I'll do the talking. You just stand there and look pretty. Christ, Newt, were you trying to give me leopard markings?" he asked in disbelief as he got a look at the bitemarks littering his neck from earlier. He shook his head and began to use some face powder to erase them.

Newt grimaced, unable to settle the uncertainty and nervousness thrumming in his system about this idea, he didn't comment about the bite marks. "Harry... I uh, when we get on the ship, there's something I need to talk to you about," he began, wetting his lips a bit only to grimace at the waxy taste of the lipstick.

"You can ask now if you like?" Harry offered even as he closed one eye and began to line it.

The Hufflepuff shook his head, "I – I think I would like to talk about it _without_ the threat of imminent discovery hanging over our heads, if you don't mind."

"On the ship then?"

"Mmn, please."

It was almost worrying how quickly and efficiently Harry transformed from a sharp cat-like featured young man to an apple-cheeked rosy young woman with just a little bit of colour manipulation and powder. He transfigured his clothing to what was perhaps the most frilly white monstrosity that Newt had ever seen though, multiple layers of skirts, ruffles, ribbons, and bows, his backpack swiftly became an equally ribboned and frilly parasol that he snapped open and used to shield himself from the sun.

"Ain't ah jest the _purdiest_ gal y'all ever did saw?" 'she' demanded in a very thick almost Texan accent. Newt gaped in shock. "Naow, don't go leavin' yer mouth open like that, sugar, y'all end up catchin' a fly or sumthin'," Harry continued mercilessly, placing a finger under Newt's chin and closing his mouth with a wicked smirk. "Come oan, Nelleh, we got a boat ta catch. An' _do_ sumthin' about that case'o'yours. It ain't lady-like lookin' like that," he added with a negligent gesture to the suitcase.

Newt gaped like a fish before he charmed the case white, and, a little lost, he conjured a red bow to go on the handle.

Harry nodded approvingly and linked his arm with the mythozoologist.

It was perhaps the most surreal and nerve-wracking thing Newt had ever done, swanning through the Chinese harbour dressed as a woman with Harry on his arm, _loudly_ commentating on everything 'she' saw, calling him 'Nellie' in a thick southern drawl.

Then they came to the check.

And Harry suddenly grew horns and teeth, much to Newt's utter _horror_.

"Ah got a _bone_ ta pick with you," the Gryffindor suddenly spat, poking one of the Chinese guards in the shoulder, "Any one o'you fellers speak a lick o'English?" 'she' demanded furiously. Uncertain and alarmed looks were exchanged between the men before one younger man stepped forward, drawing the 'woman's attention like blood in the water. "Terrible, jest _terrible_ whut you folks is doin', absolutely _shameful_. You ought be ashamed of yerselves!" he blasted, gesturing with one hand wildly, the other keeping a firm grip on Newt's arm.

"Y'all ought t'be _thankin_ ' those young fellers fer doin' yer jobs for y'all after whut happened yesterday! Not holdin' up good honest folk with these checks! Have y'all even caught those Woop Hoppy Toe fellers? Or were y'all too busy with yer wands up yer noses t'be bothered? We saw it all, didn't we, Nelleh? Those poor boys, the way yer aurors behaved was _shameful_ , Lord, I ain't never seen the like! High Nose indeed!" he tossed his hair like an angry horse, Newt watching in horrified admiration as the Chinese youth cringed away from 'her' in terror, and his colleagues stared in abject confusion and fear as well. "I 'ave half a mind to tell mah Daddy 'bout this so he can think twice about any of his future _business_ dealin's! If yer aurors can't be trusted to get to trouble spots in a timely fashion, and spend their days harassing good folk instead of huntin' down troublemakers then I don't think it's a place we should be investin' any of our moneh!"

Newt made a sound of pain, and Harry patted his hand condescendingly.

"There, there, Nelleh. Don't'chu worry yer pretty head, mah sweet, it weren't nothin' that didn't need sayin'. An' now ah've said mah piece, and let it be the end of it!" 'she' declared proudly, chin lifting as she looked down on the very much relieved looking youth in front of them before hrrumphing, and marching onto the ship, dragging Newt along after him.

Newt held his silence as far as their room, Harry closing, locking, and silencing the room before he wheezed out a sound remarkably like a dying horklump.

"I can't believe you – no, no I _can_ believe you just did that. Oh, gracious, how could you – " Newt spluttered as he leaned against the bed in horror and relief, hilarity and astonishment crawling their way up his throat. He clapped a hand over his mouth as he blurted out a cackle of all things.

Harry snorted as he reversed the transfiguration on his umbrella, tossing the backpack into the corner along with the hair ribbon that had kept the thick curls of his hair under control. "It got us on board. They were so busy being terrified, they didn't look to closely, and ended up being quite glad to see the back of us too. Win-win in my opinion," the Gryffindor declared smugly as he shook his hair out.

Long hair was a good look on Harry, Newt decided in a daze as he watched the man wrestle with his skirts and petticoats, huffing in frustration before he just shimmied out of the lot, muttering about overpowered transfiguration spells as he tossed it into the corner to sit with his bag. The Hufflepuff swallowed hard as the Gryffindor casually kicked off his high heels, and stretched languidly in nothing more than silk stockings and a satin slip.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Harry asked rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace.

"You know... I've quite forgotten," Newt admitted absently, eyes wide as they followed the curve of the Gryffindor's neck and back, the jut of his shoulder blades, the curve of his hip.

He set the suitcase on the floor, and dropped his shawl on top of it.

Their room was pitifully small, with only the one bed, and two tiny dressing tables framing it, a watercloset beside the door, and a tiny table with a pair of wooden chairs beside it. It took three steps for Newt to come up behind the Gryffindor, and most of that was manoeuvring around the edge of the bed as he cupped the back of the young man's head, and pressed their lips together.

Harry hummed, and turned to face him properly, hands sliding over his hips to the small of his back. The lipstick made the kiss greasy, and waxy tasting, enough so that Newt pulled away and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Harry laughed and smacked a kiss to his cheek, no doubt leaving a large lipstick mark behind. Newt huffed in amusement, and picked Harry up tossing him onto the bed.

The Gryffindor laughed as he sprawled out, head propped up on his hand as he unabashedly watched the Hufflepuff struggle out of his own clothing.

"You gave me ladies _undergarments_?" he demanded in offence, Harry rolled onto his stomach and cackled into the bedding, "Harry!" he yelped. Clothing was one thing, but no one was going to see his underwear, did he have to go _that_ far?!

"There was a _very_ good reason for that," he managed to snicker out.

"Oh, and pray tell, what might that be?" Newt asked faintly.

Harry snickered again, "I couldn't resist," he admitted, before practically howling with laughter at the look on Newt's face. The Gryffindor rolled onto his stomach, fist pounding on the bed in hilarity while Newt tried to be offended but – he couldn't. Not really. Of all the pranks he had been forced to endure at the hands of various Gryffindors, this was perhaps the most harmless. Harry chuckled as he pushed himself up onto his knees, shuffling forward to run his hands over Newt's shoulders, he was still grinning, dark red somewhat smeared lips stretched widely over his face, "I might have also wanted to see how it would look on you," he added playfully, "You're very beautiful. And what's a little lingerie between friends?"

Newt pulled a face, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist, "I would hope we were more than friends by now," he complained.

Harry kissed him, "It's just a saying. Sorry, most of what I say must sound like another language entirely to you," he said apologetically.

The mythozoologist sighed, and kissed him again, "Most human conversation is like another language, even when its in English. But actions, they're hard to misunderstand," he pointed out before kissing him again, teasing his lips open to explore his mouth, hands sliding down satin to cup the Gryffindor's buttocks, pulling him firmly against his body.

Hard to misunderstand indeed.

 _ **000**_

Neither of them moved in the aftermath of their activities, panting, trembling, overheated skin slowly cooling as their heart rates finally began to slow.

Harry moved first, Newt whining unhappily as he did so, tightening his grip. Harry didn't go far, he cast a few quick cleaning charms before dragging the bedsheets over them. The Hufflepuff quickly made himself comfortable against Harry's chest, feeling his arms coming up around him, one carding through his hair while the other slowly drew circles on his shoulderblades with his fingertips.

October. They met back in April.

Six months.

Newt had been married to this man for six months, and it was only now that they had actually consummated that marriage while within full control of their mental faculties. Six months he had been held at arms length by his life partner, and now...

He smiled goofily, nuzzling Harry's bare chest, tightening the grip he had around the Gryffindor's chest.

"Oh," he remembered now, what he wanted to talk to Harry about.

He summoned the blue dress with one arm, not bothering to move as he did so, squinting at it with dislike even as he carefully unravelled the transfiguration. It took a hand gesture for the small box to fly from his coat-pocket and into his palm.

"Harry, remember when I asked if we could talk?" he began nervously, hearing the Gryffindor hum lazily in curiosity. Newt swallowed as he shifted, sitting up a little using his elbows as a support, "Well, it's been six months since we met. And we haven't always – we didn't see eye to eye on this marriage bond. I know your feelings have changed, and I'm glad, _so_ glad. And I know we've done this whole thing backwards but, I wondered if you wouldn't object to... perhaps making things a little more... official?" he ventured nervously as he presented the small wooden box to the Gryffindor.

Harry tilted his head in askance, taking it carefully. A little more official? He wasn't sure how much more official a magically binding ritual could get but – he opened the box and paused.

Set on a small fold of black fabric was a simple silver ring. The thin band had a curling design like incense, or ivy, three curling swirls bracketed by another two facing the other way on the ring. It wasn't inscribed, enchanted, or bejewelled. Just a simple silver ring.

Harry handed him the box back.

And then stuck his hand out.

"I do believe it's customary for the ring-giver to put it on the receiver," he pointed out when Newt spent too long staring at him, he wiggled his fingers.

He hiccuped on a laugh, smiling wide as his eyes began to sting just a little. With a dry mouth, and tingling fingertips, he took the ring and carefully slid it onto Harry's hand.

The Gryffindor examined his hand with a critical expression before nodding solemnly, "Better," he declared before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Newt's mouth.

 _ **0000**_

 **OTL;;; I think the last few pages have actually killed me. I need sleep. You bastards had better appreciate this. Omg.**

 **For those interested, that ring is one of mine. It is in fact the only ring I can tolerate wearing. I've had it for well over a decade now, and I honestly can't remember where I bought it from anymore.**

Link to the full, uncensored version of this chapter is on my profile.


	16. Chapter 16

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Sixteen**

They stayed on the ship, eating out of the suitcase, until it was their day of departure. Newt had gone back to short hair, though Harry had kept his long at his rather hesitant request (Newt found that he liked running his fingers through it), and their clothing returned to their true forms by the next morning. Harry had eventually fallen queasy, though the copious amounts of ginger they had meant that he was nowhere near as bad as he had been the first time. He was still pale as death, spending a lot of his time curled up on the bed with some of the clingier creatures of their rescues, the niffler that Harry had named Moriarty after it escaped no less than four times from its little enclosure to curl up with the ever patient Dougal the demiguise who had also joined him on the bed, Mei, and Pickett the cheeky little bowtruckle that could pick locks much to Newt's fascination (both Gryffindor and bowtruckle would exchange secretive smirks at this but say nothing). None of the crups could be taken out of the case as the number of muggles around them put the poor things terribly on edge, making them aggressive and frightened.

Newt's pockets were getting rather full of drawings of Harry covered in his creatures.

Moriarty had quite the fascination with Harry's ring, and for a while Newt feared that it would end up in the niffler's growing little treasure horde, but Harry seemed to have the little creature well in hand. The niffler was content to leave the ring be, twisting it around the Gryffindor's finger but never taking it off, Harry in return would give him silver sickles, and shiny buttons to put in his horde. He was trying to train it out of its little kleptomania, but the going was slow and difficult. Moriarty had been extensively tortured in his 'training' under the Chinese – to steal money and jewellery at the sound of certain discreet triggers, like the dropping of a coin, or a certain word, etc. He would scrabble to obtain as much as he could as fast as he could by any means necessary, while avoiding as much attention as possible. Then he would be brutally beaten until he gave every last coin and bit of shine he had to his handler, it made him absolutely possessive and precious about what little bits that he was given. Harry was trying positive reinforcement to train him out of it, giving him a coin and some food to keep every time he ignored one of those triggers at Harry's request.

It was slow going, and both Mei and Dougal helped as well, with the phoenix singing her encouragement while the demiguise crooned, and stroked the niffler's bristling fur. But they were making some good progress in the two days of careful repeated training as Newt watched and wrote his observations on the process.

The problem came when on the day of their departure, Harry was training Moriarty again when someone knocked on the door. Newt glanced over to Harry who gently pinched Mei's beak shut and stowed away the coin he had been tempting the niffler with, gently gathering the still injured animal carefully in his hands while Dougal flickered out of sight. None of them moved back towards the still open case beside the bed, but they were quiet, and that would just have to do for now.

He abandoned the piles of papers on the table to go and answer, shifting his body so the bed wasn't visible as he opened the door – and came face to face with one of the palace guards that had been looking for him.

Dark eyes widened, just as Newt slammed the door shut.

"Time to go!" he yelped, diving away from the door and snatching his wand up.

The door exploded behind him, and Mei screeched as Harry twisted his body around her, Moriarty, and the still invisible Dougal, pinning them to the bed as he used his body to shield them from the rain of splinters.

People were shouting, someone outside was screaming, Newt was shouting.

The room was in complete chaos as Harry craned his head from where he was shielding the creatures – four Chinese wizards were in the room, pointing their wands at Newt who had moved beside him, next to the case and had his wand pointed at them, shouting back.

Moriarty hissed furiously at them, and lunged for the Chinese wizards from under Harry's arm. Dougal's grab missed, and one of the wizards turned his wand to the unknown black creature that had just shot at him – Harry threw himself forward, snatching the niffler up and dragging it back against his chest as a bolt of white lightning crackled through the air, and splashed across the Gryffindor's back.

Harry _screamed_.

And then spells started flying.

Someone grabbed his burning shoulder and he screamed again – then they screamed when Mei went for them with both claws and _fire_ , screeching with violent fury.

He could hear Dougal making whimpers as he grabbed Harry's hands, tugging gently. Moriarty was against his chest, trembling violently, but Harry's limbs were spasming too much for him to move, his lungs were locked and he couldn't breathe.

He heard shouting from outside their room, and everything seemed to pause for a moment, even Mei who chirruped just the once in a very ' _uh oh_ ' kind of fashion.

Harry moaned, shuddering on the bed.

Over his head, Newt glanced down at him worriedly, glared up at the Chinese before lowering his wand and immediately rushing to Harry's side, keeping half an eye on them as one of the four quickly moved to close the door. The second went to wake the third up after Newt had hit him with a combination disarming and stunning curse, and the fourth cradled his bleeding burnt face as Mei abandoned her savagery to land upon the bed next to Harry piping in concern.

Harry's nightshirt, one of Newt's, was burnt into his skin.

Someone started banging on the door, shouting.

One of the Chinese men looked at him with a severely conflicted expression, while Newt just gave him one of the most ugly glares he could muster in return. When the man didn't say anything, Newt disregarded him as useless, and instead looked between Dougal and Mei.

"Dougal, I need you to get me the scissors from downstairs," the demiguise nodded and immediately swung himself bodily into the case, "Mei, can you get me the burn salve? Third case, seventh row down, four in from the right, the orange tub," he requested, the phoenix immediately taking to the air and diving back down into the case as Newt carefully extracted Moriarty from Harry's shirt, the niffler sniffling and bleating as it tried to get back to him. A feeling that Newt could sympathise with entirely, "Moriarty, _Moriarty listen_ ," he bit out, tapping the niffler's nose sharply, startling it into looking at him. "I need you to get bandages, can you do that for me? I need you to get bandages and cloths for Harry."

It started struggling again, and Newt set him down, the creature darting back into the case just before Dougal swung himself out, scissors in hand.

Newt took them and began to cut the burnt fabric away from Harry's skin.

The banging outside got louder, and the four Chinese wizards began to hiss at one another, whispering furiously as the Hufflepuff pointedly ignored them, slowly, slowly, and carefully, with a lot of water charms to help him along, teased the fabric free of Harry's charred flesh.

There was a horrible black burn where the spell hit, and spiralling out from it were dark floral feathering bruises, like ink dribbled onto damp parchment.

Mei piped in dismay as she landed, tub of burn salve in her claws, Dougal crooned sadly, and even the Chinese wizards stopped their whispering in a kind of horrified silence. Newt ignored them and began to unscrew the burn salve, too focused on limiting as much of the damage as possible to be horrified by it.

Something slammed against the door, like a body trying to ram it in, snapping the others into motion.

Newt paid it no mind, too busy smearing the paste over Harry's back, wincing whenever the Gryffindor cried out, the Chinese wizards were now _loudly_ arguing amongst themselves, Mei nervously preening Harry's hair as he twitched.

That was when Moriarty burst out of the case, and began to pull wash cloths, bedsheets, towels, pillow cases, bandages, cleaning rags, field dressings, a table cloth, one of Newt's shirts, a sock, and then almost every article of clothing the two of them possessed at such speed he almost _buried_ Dougal in them all, and in the end crumpled beside the demiguise panting and dizzy.

Newt spared a moment to pat the niffler on the head with his clean hand before taking the field dressing and carefully positioning it on Harry's back, before rummaging the bandages out of the pile.

It was just as he was using a sticking charm on the edge of the bandage that one of the Chinese wizards finally approached him. Newt growled low in his throat at the man, making him pause and lean back in alarm – that was _not_ a human sound.

"Haven't you done enough damage?" the mythozoologist demanded quietly.

The man worked his jaw angrily, and likely swallowed back a great deal of unpleasant things he had to say before he presented a length of cord to him, "Before _nóng_ break down door. Porting key. Get Healer for – " he said something in Chinese, completely incomprehensible but nodded unmistakably to Harry.

Newt stared, hesitating. He glanced back at Harry who was gritting his teeth, face screwed up in pain.

He nodded once, and flicked his wand at the pile of cloths and bedding, sending them back into the suitcase, he summoned his papers, their bags, sent them down to be dealt with later, ushered Dougal, and Moriarty into the case (the latter actually biting him in his efforts to remain outside). Mei chirruped unhappily, and refused to be moved from Harry's side, though she did flutter to Newt's shoulder rather than risk aggravating any of the Gryffindor's injuries.

It was as he passed within arms reach of the Chinese wizard to collect his coat, he grabbed the man by the throat faster than he could react, Newt often moved faster than most wizards should by any right, it came part in parcel with the job, and rammed him against the wall wand to his nose.

"If this is a trap, if you hurt him, I will destroy you," the Hufflepuff promised him seriously, quietly, squeezing the man's throat warningly before dropping him and taking a step back, ignoring the three wands pointed directly at him, and the way the one he attacked had a hand up stopping them from cursing him.

He nodded once, swallowing hard as he massaged his throat.

The mythozoologist dropped his gaze, grabbing his coat and shrugging into it before he returned to Harry's side. He carefully gathering the former auror up along with his bedding, spotting little Pickett amongst the fabric, hiding just behind Harry's ear as Newt balanced him on one arm against his shoulder. Picking his suitcase up in one hand, he passed it to the one holding Harry up so he would have a wand hand free. He felt the little bowtruckle clamber onto him, hiding behind one of his coat lapels, as he turned to the man with the cord.

Eyes slightly wider than before, he hurriedly handed over one end of the cord that Newt then looped around the Gryffindor's waist before grasping both ends in one hand, and watching as the other four quickly grabbed a handful of their own.

"We go now," the leader of them warned before incanting a single word.

A familiar hook wedged itself into his navel, and Newt was pulled off his feet, keeping a white knuckled grip on both Harry and his case, feeling Pickett squeaking in terror before Harry shifted his weight and practically squished the bowtruckle into the folds of his bedding for protection so he wouldn't be flung away in transit.

And then they landed.

 _ **000**_

The Chinese magical palace was immense, decorated in excessive violently vivid colour, magentas, golds, scarlets, peacock blues, emerald greens, spiralling multi-hued wall panels, and paper screens decorated with delicate flower motifs.

And Newt saw none of it.

Perched in a chair beside his husband's bed, he kept his wand in one hand, and held Harry's hand with the other, watching the healers with gimlet eyes as they worked herbs, poultices, and salves onto Harry's back, healing the damage, but unable to do anything about his scarring. One of them explaining in frustrated English that for some reason... he just scarred, even though he shouldn't as a Parselmouth. Those who spoke the tongue of serpents were healers of the highest order, able to heal the damage to themselves just as easily as they could to another person.

They flew into frightened whispers when Newt stonily informed them Harry was incapable of healing magic, _completely_.

Whatever significance it held, part of him hoped that because he was 'broken', that meant they would left Harry go sooner rather than later. The other parts of him were concerned for how desperately the Chinese were to force Harry into seeing the emperor, and how they _knew his name_. Newt's. Not Harry's. The Hufflepuff ducked his head, jaw tense as he stroked his thumb over the back of Harry's hand. Mister Scamander had never sounded so insulting until they started speaking to him.

They definitely hated him, and _worshipped_ Harry.

 _ **000**_

As much as he hated it, Newt did still have a suitcase of creatures that needed feeding. Sometimes he had to leave Harry's bedside in order to tend to them, he always left Dougal and Mei to keep him company (with Moriarty breaking his way out in order to cuddle up to his husband), and made sure it was when Harry was awake.

So it came as something of a surprise when he surfaced from the suitcase to see Harry being grudgingly helped into a set of _staggeringly_ beautiful Chinese robes in shades of white, red, and gold, depictions of phoenix, fire, feathers, and serpents on every inch of fabric in dizzyingly symmetrical swirling patterns. They seemed to be cut specifically to Harry's sizes, highlighting his lean frame, double lined with silk so as not to aggravate the still somewhat sore burns across his back. He kept waving off the attempts to tame his tangled dark hair, and Newt chuckled quietly to himself as he climbed out completely.

Harry glanced at him, and smirked in approval while everyone else cringed in distaste. He was a bit dirty, he knew there were leaves in his hair, dirt on his cheek, and a host of new scratches on his arms, but there was hardly call for such facial expressions he felt.

"We have been _invited_ to dine with our host this afternoon," the Gryffindor informed him mildly, in tones of great sarcasm that left little to how much choice they had in the matter.

Newt glanced down at himself, the mud on his knees, the specks of dung on his boots, and the bloody scratches on his arms. His shirt was old, wrinkled, faded white and sweat stained, his waistcoat was ill-fitting, and his trousers were too baggy. Definitely not good enough to be meeting with the emperor of China, his mother would have his guts for garters if he dared.

"I'll go change," he offered awkwardly. Mei trilled in what sounded suspiciously like laughter, Harry actually did.

"You're fine. Better a bit of dirt than these _dolly_ clothes," he bit out with dislike. "You can tear them off me later," he added hopefully glancing up at the Hufflepuff with a light of mischief in his eyes. He couldn't help but blush. It wasn't _his_ fault buttons took too much time.

One of the attendants simpered something nervously in Chinese, making Harry sneer in disgust and pin the man with a glare.

"You know, it is the height of rudeness to speak in a language not everyone in the room understands when they damn well know you can speak another that they _do_. Not to mention your constant attempts to separate me from my _magically bound_ husband!" he added at volume when the attendant tried to stutter something out, a correction, defence, or apology, whichever, Newt had no idea. Harry got to his feet, wincing only a little as Moriarty scampered up one arm to perch on his shoulder, Mei chirruped in annoyance while he just chuckled. Newt sighed as he approached, leaning down and dropping a kiss onto Harry's cheek, and then scooped the niffler up.

"Not this time. There's too much shine to risk your training, little fellow. Dougal, if you could, please?" the mythozoologist requested, gently handing the small creature to the suddenly visible demiguise perching on the bedframe above the pillow. Several of the attendants gasped or jolted at his sudden appearance, looking alarmed as none of them had even seen the creature while he had been watching over Harry. Uneasy looks were exchanged between them as the ape carefully returned to the still open suitcase with the sniffling niffler, the lid snapping shut and locking behind him.

Harry linked his arm with Newt's as he picked it up, "Shall we?" he asked with false brightness.

 _ **000**_

Harry didn't give him a chance to even flick a cleaning charm over himself, taking unholy levels of glee in the amount of mud he was tracking over the ridiculously ornate and expensive carpets that were probably worth more than his entire family manor for just one foot-square corner of it. He moved slowly, and gingerly, one arm looped through the Hufflepuff's, with Mei perched on one of his shoulders, the specifically padded one for her to perch upon.

Newt had never felt so out of place, and yet reassured at the same time. It was a strange dichotomy that was more than likely Harry's entire fault given how he seemed to be treating this whole situation with a cavalier attitude that would have put any and _all_ of the most reckless Gryffindors in awe, and horror. Any Slytherin watching them would have fainted long ago.

They were followed by an entourage of four healers directly behind them, twenty guards in two rows of ten behind them, and in front was a single black and gold clad wizard in a tall hat leading them through the gaudy ornate halls. They did their best to ignore them all, discussing the creatures in the case, how the graphorns were due to give birth in the next few weeks, the fwoopers they rescued in Africa almost had all of their plumage back and would be ready to be released once they returned.

"Scarlet Flower's eggs are hardening nicely," Newt added as they followed the gentleman in the tall hat down another corridor, Harry's eyebrow twitching irritably much to the mythozoologist's confusion, "they should be ready to hatch in four or six weeks or so."

Harry sighed in aggravation, "All seven are viable?" he asked plaintively, Newt nodded, "That wouldn't have been such a problem if we had pushed off with the boat on time like we should have. Our meat stocks would have lasted us the rest of the journey even with seven hungry hatchlings. We may have to look into turning one of the enclosures into a livestock store, just keep a few cows and the like for the larger predators. Too long under preservation charms, and they'll just straight up refuse the meat," he complained as they were lead down another corridor, this one somewhat larger, with more ornate pillars, towards a large solid gold door with rampant depictions of fireball dragons intertwined with phoenix.

Six attendants all rushed forward to pull the doors open as magic would just wash off the gold without affect.

They were then lead into a _beautiful_ garden, serene and elegant, mossy thick grass, carefully tended waterbanks with reeds, water-lilies in bloom, iris, a weeping willow, and various other natural plants filling the space. And, a pavilion set in the distance, over a small bleeding eyesore of a scarlet and gold moon-bridge. Out of place and offensive amongst the greenery.

They were lead into the pavilion where they were greeted by a beautiful young woman, resplendent in ornate Chinese robes of white, scarlet, and gold bearing multiple phoenix, and a single golden dragon that wrapped around her lithe form. She sat behind a low table decorated with flowers, a tea set, and with two more places set opposite her. The two wizards exchanged glances of surprise as their guide ushered them into the two empty spaces.

"Presenting Empress Yu Lien, Daughter of Heaven, chosen of the Divine Wind," their attendant announced as four more attendants rushed over with trays and jugs, immediately beginning to lay out food upon platters, and fill the teapots with steaming black tea. "Your Eminence, presenting British mythozoologist Newton Artemis Fido Scamander," Harry had forgotten how ridiculous Newt's middle names were as he shot his husband a look of mirth that had him glowering in embarrassment right back at him, "and _Chosen of Heaven's Daughter_."

Harry's head snapped around so fast the sound of his neck joints popping were audible, Newt paused in confusion, that was a different name to what they had been calling him earlier.

"Harry, was it not?" the _empress_ enquired smoothly, her voice carried very little accent, and was light and feminine, but her attendant flinched all the same and bowed deeply.

Harry glared at the man, his eyes slowly sliding away to the young woman who smiled sweetly at him. Newt swallowed a little ducking his head, she was beautiful in a way that would turn the head of even the most dedicated of lovers, and his relationship with Harry was still new, fragile. He knew the man had a girlfriend whom he was very serious about before the war, that he held off on committing to Newt because of the risk to the timeline but now he _knew_ there was no risk, no matter what he did... Would he still leave so that Newt could meet this woman he was supposed to marry? Given their surroundings, he... if Harry _chose_ to stay, he – the Hufflepuff swallowed again. Why wouldn't he choose to stay in a palace? Newt had done nothing but drag him into trouble, into situations that got him hurt, in trouble, dog-sick, and miserable enough to decide suicide was his only avenue.

"It is. Harry _Scamander_ ," the Gryffindor stressed menacingly, hand moving under the table to catch Newt's own, squeezing his fingers reassuringly.

 _ **000**_

The Empress was... She reminded Harry a lot like a strange mix of Narcissa Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy when he was younger. She had clearly never been told 'no' before in her life, but despite that she was dignified and elegant even in the face of Harry at his most politely resistant.

"I must apologise for the zealousness of my guard's actions," the young woman announced as an attendant poured them all a cup of tea, "No one wished for your harm, least of all I. How are your injuries, I trust my healers have seen to you?" she continued as if the Gryffindor hadn't been casting spells on his cup of tea to check for drugs or potions.

"You know they have, you majesty," Harry reminded her coolly as he picked up his cup, "Just as you are probably now aware that I am a _broken_ Parselmouth."

She nodded solemnly, "So I was informed. Yes, it is always a tragedy when young ones are hurt to such a point their gift breaks putting them back together." Newt jerked, his grip tightening on Harry's hand under the table. He – the healing talent could _break_ when used on themselves for severe injuries? "If it is not too personal, I should like to know the circumstances."

Harry's expression tightened up darkly, "I was raised by non-magicals who did not like the idea of a wizard in the house. You may take from that what you wish," he grit out.

She bowed her head slightly, a mere fraction of her neck, but that she did was a good sign. "We have strayed into discomforting territory. Perhaps a change in subject. It shall be pleasant to have a mythozoologist within our staff once again, especially one whom has worked with dragons in the past, Mister Scamander," she said with a smile at the Hufflepuff who hunched a little more, peeking up at her through his hair.

"Chinese fireballs are significantly removed from Ukrainian Ironbellies, if I may be so bold to say," he explained shortly.

"And you seem to be under some mistaken impression that we are staying," Harry continued bluntly as he leaned back on his pillow slightly.

The Empress blinked the once at him, her smile still set upon her lips, "That is so. Why might it be a mistaken impression?"

"Because I am married, and have no intention of becoming a sex slave, apologies, _concubine_ to anyone else," the Gryffindor told her forcefully, twisting his hand free of Newt's grip to show her the simple silver ring on his hand.

She chuckled slightly, hiding her laughter behind a sleeve, "I have no intention of separating the two of you. I understand you do not wish to be separated, so I have made arrangements for the both of you," she announced grandly with a beaming self-satisfied smile.

"The answer is still no," Harry stated flatly as he slipped at his tea.

The empress paused, "I... Do not understand."

"Neither of us are interested in joining your harem. We do not want to, thus will not do so," the Gryffindor explained tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

"It is a great honour," she pointed out, sounding quite bewildered by the refusal, "You would be permitted to live within the Palace, eat as you like, drink as you desire. Nothing would be beneath you, you would want for nothing," she explained.

"M'lady, do either of us look like the kind of men who would be happy with such an existence?" Newt asked quietly, as kindly as he could, as he peered up at her from under his hair.

She paused at that, actually taking a moment to look them over. Newt in his dirty clothing, the scratches up his arms, his _sincere_ discomfort with the situation and the opulence of their surroundings, Harry in his elegant robe worn with complete irreverence, stiff backed as if expecting an attack. Her eyes then slid to Mei on his shoulder who was quite comfortable just under his ear, a strand of his hair in her beak. Mei who was most _assuredly_ not a tame bird.

Harry rolled his shoulders, "Tell you what, my lady, I believe you mentioned there were dragons here. Shall we take a turn where-ever it is you have them, we'll check them over, see how they are, and you'll have until Newt's finished fussing to convince us to stay. Would you say that's fair?" he asked lightly.

She stared at him for a long while as he sipped his tea, waiting for her.

"You are very forward, aren't you," she observed, her tone suggesting that she didn't appreciate it.

Harry smirked at her, "Right back at you, my lady."

"I am an empress," she excused.

"I kill Dark Lords on a regular basis," Harry returned, making the young woman freeze and stare at him in astonishment. Harry lifted three fingers with a bland smile. "A certain level of 'forward'ness is a requirement."

"I see."

 _ **000**_

The dragon enclosure was a lot like the garden just with the water-feature to one side and a lot more pavilions, one for each dragon. In total there were twelve Chinese Fireballs sprawled here and there, casually sunning themselves, Harry could see several people wearing white robes with black, blue, and green snakes plastered across them and wrinkled his nose in distaste, apparently there was a uniform for the local Parselmouths, another mark against remaining in his opinion. The empress continued to chatter about the palace, extolling the virtue of the library which did sound pretty nice, but Harry wasn't Hermione. A kick ass library wasn't exactly going to do it for him.

It was odd though, he noticed, all of the Parselmouths were female. There were a few men, but they were elderly, shuffling along with their equally elderly dragons, there was a young lad, barely eight, clinging to the skirts of one attendant who looked to be his mother. Newt however seemed to be quite taken with the dragons, and their enclosure, he had snatched up one of their attendants to translate for him and was going to each individual dragon and their Parselmouth handler to question them on the creature's care. He hadn't seemed to notice anything amiss, though Harry was beginning to get an idea of why the Empress was so determined to see him remain. Still, Newt apparently liked what he was being told judging by the smile on his mouth, and the animated way he was chattering to one particular lady, his attendant scrambling to keep up the translations between the two as they were off at _speed_ , barely giving the poor man the chance to breathe.

"Your husband seems happy," the empress observed smugly.

Harry nodded, not looking at her, "They take good care of their dragons, of course he would be happy. Far too often we find creatures in dire need of rescue. It's nice to see them well cared for, for once," he admitted, watching fondly as Newt went so far as to stick his head into the mouth of the woman's dragon. And he called _Harry_ reckless! He shook his head in amusement, at least he wasn't putting his head into the mouth of a dragon, silly Hufflepuff.

Still, no one looked to be in ill health, overly harmed, nor even particularly upset.

Oh well, regardless of how _everyone else_ was, Harry was still wholly against this whole thing, and he knew Newt was as well. He just sincerely hoped that his husband wouldn't kick off when Harry presented his idea for getting them out of this mess – hopefully seeing the enclosure here would put his fears to rest.

 _ **000**_

"Have I convinced you?" the empress demanded haughtily, absolutely certain that she had finally managed to obtain the elusive treasure that would soon be the jewel of her house. They had retired to a private room not far from the enclosure, able to see the sunning dragons from the windows, perched upon a throne-like chair, she couldn't help but bask in her victory. Very rarely did she have to work for what she desired, and she _desired_ this young Parselmouth within her concubinage. He was beautiful, powerful, intelligent, and _willful_. Part, and parcel with the younger brother of a British War-Hero, a mythozoologist of great repute, just as handsome as his husband, but much more gentle.

If the Parselmouth was a blade of finest silver, then his husband was a sheath of silk.

The two were stood opposite her, Harry leaning against his husband. The two exchanged a speaking look before the taller of the two offered her a small smile. Yes, she would be _very_ pleased to welcome them both into her household.

"Respectfully, my lady, kind though your offer is, we must decline," the mythozoologist explained.

"However, we understand that such offers are rare, and not to be dismissed out of hand. We do not wish to cause offence to the people of China, or the House of Yu. So, in apology for this refusal, we would offer to the Imperial House eight dragons. A nesting mother, and her eggs," Harry explained, squeezing Newt's arm when he felt the man tense a little. "She is a rescue from our last run in with the Wo Hop To triad group in Hong Kong. She is injured still, though we have done our best for her. Having seen the care the House of Yu affords to its draconic charges, we would be honoured if you would please take her, and her remaining eggs, into the most _excellent_ care of the Daughter of Heaven."

They could see the exact moment the empress's brain processed not only their refusal, but their offer of _eight_ dragons to her house.

Stuck between getting what she wanted, Harry, or getting eight dragons returned to the Imperial Household. It was quite the choice for the young woman, both with its political pros and cons that would make the choice _far_ from an easy one. On the one hand, a nesting mother dragon with a small clutch of eggs. Fresh bloodlines, a gift to _her_ household, her _specifically_ , not the Empress of China. The House of Yu. The Daughter of Heaven. Eight was a lucky number. Seven was a magically _powerful_ number. On the other hand, a magically powerful Parselmouth bonded to a Phoenix, a beautiful young man already married, and _resistant_ to the joining of the Imperial Household. Of concubinage.

A young male Parselmouth of breeding age, _pretty_ male Parselmouth that ticked all of her favourite boxes in things she liked in a man. If he were Chinese she would have offered to marry him to her as a Prince. But he wanted nothing to do with her.

Eight dragons. Seven hatchlings. A young mother in dire need of care, rescued from criminals of her own country when they attacked the very Parselmouth she wished to court. A _symbol of the Imperial House_.

She made a quiet noise of dismay and frustration.

 _ **0000**_

 **I hate this chapter and everything about its face. OTL;;; traditional midstory plunnies tried to crowbar themselves into my head and I have been** **fighting** **this chapter almost the whole damn way. I believe I can lay the blame squarely on how the ten hour work days are continuously kicking my ass, and the fact I have just started my monthlies so my brain may as well be utter mush. Shark week is a bitch, and I may have just spent like £30+ on bath/shower products and chocolate tonight. I needed it.**

 **Ahaha, the British are going to be shitting themselves over one of their people rejecting the Empress of China. Rei and I kind of figured out why England has SUCH a shit Government and yet no one else seems to go "Wait, they're governed by idiots who couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag. JOB 'EM LADS". And that is because England is full of ridiculously powerful combat mages. Like seriously. Grindelwald was one dude and he was giving the majority of Europe and AMERICA problems. England had like three people on PAR with him in the same stretch of 50 years (Dumbledore, Harry, Voldemort). That is without getting into the second tier types of McGongall, Hermione, Ron, Bellatrix Lestrange, Lily and James, Molly Weasley, Bill Weasley, Flitwick, Snape, Malfoys, the Blacks, Gideon and Fabrian, Alice and Frank, Moody, etc, etc. Regardless of their political leanings, you can't deny they were fucking terrifying in a fight.**

 **So the headcanon is this. China is known for medicine, they have the best healers.**

 **ENGLAND IS FULL OF CRAZY ASS BATTLE FREAKS WHO CAN AND WILL RIP YOUR SHIT UP ONE SIDE AND DOWN THE OTHER.**

 **Hence why no one fucks with them despite their Government being staffed by nutters who couldn't find their arses with GPS, a map, and a Point-me charm.**


	17. Chapter 17

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Seventeen**

She went for the dragons, like Harry predicted.

She pouted horrifically and unbecomingly as she reluctantly ground out the formal words of acceptance, and they made their way back to the garden where there was an impromptu ceremony where Harry officially turned Scarlet Flower and her clutch into the care of the Empress. Looking between the dragoness, and the palace dragons, there was more than just the obvious difference in care between the two. Scarlet Flower was _buff_ compared to them, and _huge_. She was easily thrice the size of the pampered palace dragons, muscular, with a rack of horns that put even the largest of the males to shame. Her frill was ragged and scarred, her scales were darker, the golden shades of her were more tawny than acid yellow, and her coils were marked with the signs of her captivity.

She was _entirely_ a wild creature.

And it showed in every sinewy movement of her form as she flew from the suitcase and landed behind Harry, graceful and aware of herself in a way that the other creatures couldn't match. Scarlet Flower was largely disdainful of her brethren within the garden, but it was a safe place for her and her hatchlings, if she chose to leave then that was her choice, and the Daughter of Heaven could do nothing to prevent it. And Harry could not be held responsible either.

In the end, Scarlet Flower agreed to stay, even if she thought the other dragons disgustingly soft. At least her eggs would hatch in safety.

 _ **000**_

The small of Harry's back met the edge of Newt's desk hard, wood biting into bare flesh as the silk of his robe was left to drop to the floor, torn to ribbons at his request. The Hufflepuff's mouth was busy remarking the recently healed flesh of his throat, the Chinese having erased the bruises he left in his wake the last time, hands smoothing down the Gryffindor's thighs in order to lift him into sitting on the table. Harry's hands already at work on unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt, cold fingers splaying across over-hot skin, tracing scars, and scratching at freckled skin when teeth nipped just a shade too hard on his neck.

The Empress had opened her house to them for the evening, and chartered one of her personal ships for their use the next morning. Newt had graciously accepted, knowing a political move when he saw one while Harry had been tempted to tell her not to worry and just take one of the muggle ships. But neither of them had wanted to stay within the ridiculously ornate room she had given them within her bower – and they didn't want to leave the suitcase unattended.

Harry ended up resolving the problem by withdrawing an invisibility cloak from his auror equipment and draping it over the suitcase and a chair in the corner of the room so that no one could see it.

Which brought them to now.

The events of the day had brought a new appreciation of one another, and a reassurance in their relationship that hadn't been there before. Right now, neither of them cared about the mess they were making of the desk so much as each other.

 _ **000**_

"Please kill me," Harry moaned in despair, draped across the ship's railing, pale faced and barely able to support his own weight.

"I rather prefer you alive, Harry, sorry," Newt told him sympathetically as he rubbed the Gryffindor's back. He received a pitiable whimper from the young man in reply and smiled wryly. They had taken a portkey to a private harbour, and set out on a beautiful sailing ship covered in the sigil of the Empress's House, it was fully staffed, and stocked for their use with enough raw meat to feed all of their creatures, and potion ingredients for every eventuality. It was a shame that Harry couldn't stop throwing up long enough for the stomach soothers they provided to actually _work_.

Plans had hastily been reworked when it became more than apparent that the smaller ship actually made his motion sickness a great deal worse, and now they had multiple stop-overs at various islands and ports worked into the return trip to Africa. What had been planned as a month long trip (the smaller ship being mildly enchanted so as to travel significantly faster than the muggle passenger ship they took) was now once again a two month journey, but thankfully it would be one that was far kinder on the Gryffindor.

For someone who could perform the most death defying stunts on a broom, Newt wasn't sure if it was a cruel twist of fate, or merely irony, that he would get so dog sick on a ship going at less than a tenth of the speed in a straight line.

 _ **000**_

There was one bright point, Newt decided, of Harry feeling unwell. Now that there was a better understanding between them, he was absolutely shameless about being as cuddly as he wanted to be. And he was, very much so.

It reminded Newt of those semi-feral creatures, the pets that had been abandoned and not yet learned to be wary or aggressive to the humans around them. The desperate neediness, and grasping clinginess. Touch starved. Not that Newt himself wasn't, oh no, he knew he was touch starved and had been since his preteens when he first went to Hogwarts. He was a very tactile person, but it wasn't polite to just grab and touch and press against people. So he refrained, and his brother was busy with his own life, his mother felt he was too old to crawl up beside her on the sofa to cuddle, so he just... didn't.

But it was only _recently_ that Harry became amenable to Newt's constant intrusion of his personal space, and even then he did not allow it around or in front of others, especially in front of muggles – though that was somewhat more understandable given their odd views on same-sex relationships.

So he not so secretly took advantage of Harry's sea sickness in order to snuggle as much as he liked, not that the Gryffindor complained. Unless he tried to move.

 _ **000**_

Two weeks into their journey, Harry had enough, snatched up his broom, and sped into the sky with Mei hot on his heels, much to the distress of the watching Chinese. Newt just sighed, found himself a comfortable spot on the deck, and went back to work on his sketches – he was halfway through an anatomical sketch of Mei's wing, and claws, but that would have to wait until she was finished. He turned his attention to Pickett in the meanwhile as the Chinese wizards around him exclaimed and shouted in horror at Harry's airborne stunts.

They clearly expected him to kill himself after the only experience they had of him was as a delicate sickly young man who spent his time caring for benign magical creatures and practically climbing into his husband's lap. No doubt they thought him a paragon of wifely material. Newt almost wanted someone to attack them just so they could see how completely _vicious_ he really was, and stop whispering about how _he_ was being a tyrant in preventing the Parselmouth from remaining with the Empress and being properly taken care of like a ' _delicate_ ' Parselmouth should. Really, Newt could only _barely_ keep Harry from doing whatever it was he wanted when it really mattered, the rest of the time he may as well have been perched on the back of an Ironbelly – there for the ride, but by no means in control.

He chuckled to himself as he told Pickett as much, the bowtruckle nodding knowledgeably in all seriousness.

And if the Chinese suddenly started _screaming_ when Harry dove down and pulled up an inch from the deck, grinning like a loon, cheeks flushed happily, eyes bright as he hung upside down and kissed his husband silly, Newt was hardly going to stop his fun.

Though he knew that getting him off the broom was going to be next to impossible now.

 _ **000**_

Harry rigged a hammock between both of his brooms and slept like a baby.

Newt kind of just... stared. Because...

He just stared, and then shrugged and climbed in with him. If it helped the Gryffindor with his seasickness, who was he to say it shouldn't be done?

The next morning they experimented what it was like to have sex in a hammock. The answer was with great difficulty, and hilarity, when Newt fell out of the damn thing and ended up sprawling bucknaked on the floor while Harry fairly cried with laughter above him. They agreed to leave intimate shenanigans for when they were on dry land.

 _ **000**_

Finally with a method of preventing his motion sickness, Harry's attitude was a complete change, and Newt was highly amused to note that the Chinese crewmen honestly didn't have the faintest idea of how to act now. Because Harry had a habit of growing horns and teeth, and snapping at them when he overheard things he didn't like, telling them off, brusquely correcting their misunderstandings, and wrong notions with malicious satisfaction. He sat cross-legged on his broom, ate like a pig in order to put some weight back on after losing almost a stone in the last fortnight, and discussed creatures and potions at length with the Hufflepuff, making those who knew English stare wide-eyed at them.

Newt knew Harry hardly looked or _acted_ as intelligent as he was, but there was no need for expressions like that.

All in all, he was largely back to normal, if a little restless by their lack of progress. Thankfully the ability to fly often took care of that, and all Newt had to deal with afterwards was a certain overly affectionate Gryffindor draping himself across his back and nuzzling into his hair with a happy hum while he was trying to work. Normally he wouldn't complain, but, they had agreed not to do anything until they reached dry land, and a Harry who had been flying was very handsy, and distracting in a way that made Newt want to ignore that agreement in favour of reminding his husband exactly why teasing wasn't very nice.

He refrained though.

He would save that for when they made port.

 _ **000**_

Without the stop-overs Harry needed to recover from his motion sickness, the trip became drastically reduced, and barely another two weeks later, a grumpy Newton Scamander was stalking off the Chinese ship into a Kenyan harbour, Harry trotting idly at his heels, giving the crew an absent wave goodbye that was enthusiastically returned. For all that both of them thought the men would be happy to see the back of them, somehow they had gotten attached in the five weeks they had sailed together. Harry was a hard person not to love when you had to deal with him constantly in close quarters.

Yes, Harry was very hard not to love. The cheeky _arsehole_.

Never, in his life, did Newt ever think he would become one of those men who could become frustrated by a lack of physical intimacy with his life partner. He had heard men in his unit complaining about 'blue-balls', missing the 'friendship' of their wife's thighs, and a whole host of other euphemisms for the fact that none of them had been intimate since their deployment. Though, Newt thought with a displeased side glance to his husband, he didn't think any of them had to deal with _Harry_ during that period of time. The Gryffindor was enough to drive even the most reasonable of men to distraction, it seemed to be a talent that most Gryffindors possessed, but _concentrated_ in the diminutive auror who had no problem with driving Newt absolutely around the twist without much effort.

Newt took them to a local hotel for the night, casting silencing charms on the walls once they were in the small twin room, it wouldn't do for someone to hear Mei or Moriarty and think they were smugglers or something.

"Okay, what's got your knickers in a twist?" Harry asked, sitting down on one of the beds, a look of concern creasing his face, "You've been grumpy all day."

Newt shot him a grimace as he began to unlace his boots. The Gryffindor's genuine concern made him feel like an absolute cad. Making him worry over – the Hufflepuff sighed, "It's nothing Harry," he reassured as he dropped his boot carelessly to the floor and made his way over, bending down to press a kiss to his husband's lips.

"Pretty big nothing, Newt," the Gryffindor refuted catching his hand and twisting their fingers together, "You've been in a mood for the last few days. Has something happened to one of the creatures that I don't know about?" he asked, eyebrows knitting in worry.

Creatures were not his speciality, nor was healing, and it was so easy for Newt to forget that given how competent he was with both despite his healing-disability. He kissed the Gryffindor again, feeling a swell of affection for him.

"No, nothing like that. I promise."

"Then what – "

He laughed a little self-depreciatingly, burying his head into Harry's hair, "You are _very_ hard to resist, Harry, and I do not believe you've noticed that you get rather... _affectionate_ after flying."

There was a long silence as the former auror tried to digest that, and Newt knew he was forgiven the moment he felt a huff of laughter against his neck, and arms that went up around his chest.

"Sexual frustration. You've been a grumpy guts for the last few days because you're _horny_ ," he said to himself laughingly, burying his face into Newt's collarbone.

"It does _not_ help that you are a terrible tease, Mister Scamander," the Hufflepuff nettled playfully, unable to stop himself from grinning against the former auror's hair feeling his body shake with chuckling.

Harry laughed, "But you're so cute when you're flustered. How could I resist?" he asked playfully.

Newt pouted at him as he drew away, "Teasing isn't nice, Harry."

A dark eyebrow inched up playfully as the Gryffindor's smile turned sly, "What are you gunna do, spank me?" he asked suggestively, leaning back on the bed and smirking.

Newt paused at that.

"Do... you want me to?" he asked, genuinely curious. He knew Harry was a pervert ("Kinky," the Gryffindor had corrected him when they actually sat down to have a talk about it), and he was familiar with a few of the things that were generally done, the more benign things at any rate. He had encountered a few _strange_ things while travelling through the northern reaches of Europe, things that turned his stomach even now just to think about them.

Harry's sly look dissolved into a softer one of affection and mild amusement as he was reminded yet again that the 20's were not as familiar with sexuality as the 00's, and Newt was relatively inexperienced to boot. They'd talked about kinks before, things that interested them, Harry had been curious about whether or not there was something in there he should know about. Surprise, Newt had no clue what a kink even was, and it took a little bit of work before Harry realised that what was known as kinks and fetishes in his time, a generally accepted part of a lot of people's sex lives, was considered perversion in this time period, and could get you a trip to a mental asylum if the wrong people caught wind of it.

As far as Harry knew, he only had a few kinks; light bondage, mostly just restraints, and blind folds; mild domination/submission, he wasn't very comfortable with the heavier stuff in this area as the domination aspect even without the sex put him too much in mind of Voldemort, and the submission past the point of his comfort levels automatically had him bristling and gearing up for a fight which could be dangerous to anyone trying to dominate him; and, somewhat embarrassingly for him, he was something of a masochist as well. His nerves were a little messed up from the repeated bouts of cruciatus, so he didn't actually feel things to the same degree as others. He couldn't really describe it beyond the fact that it felt good when someone _he trusted_ not to take it too far messed him up. Ginny had been particularly good at it the few times they experimented, it was her who theorised that his masochistic kink was heavily intertwined with his submissive one – even though he could switch, he did prefer to sub – because he could so very rarely let go and trust the person he was with to bring him back. Ginny herself preferred to dominate, even if sadism was really not her thing, because it was somewhat therapeutic for her. The idea of giving up control after it was forcefully stolen from her as an eleven year old was one she couldn't stomach, but being the one _in_ control of another? It made her feel powerful, and when she returned that control to the person, and then took care of them afterwards, it made her feel better in a way she couldn't _really_ describe, but still tried to in the few very frank conversations she and Harry had after their break up.

All things considered, compared to some people he knew, Harry was positively vanilla.

But it was still a little too much flavour for the 1920's apparently.

"Only if you're alright with it, Newt. I know this time period isn't exactly..." he trailed off, trying to think of the words, pursing his lips as he rotated a hand thoughtfully.

The Hufflepuff chuckled at the expression. "Tolerant?" he offered as he sat on the other bed.

Harry snapped his fingers and pointed at him with a grin, "That one. Yes. I know this time period isn't exactly tolerant, so I won't ever ask you to do something past your comfort levels. Also, if there's anything you want to try out, you just have to ask. I'm absolutely shit at mind magic, so we're going to have to talk it out otherwise no one is going to know what's going on, and that could lead to disagreements and hurt feelings."

Newt reached up and caught the hand pointing at him and gently tugged Harry towards him, the Gryffindor happily standing from the other bed and moving close enough for him to wrap his other arm around his waist and pull him into his lap. Not for the first time, Newt wondered what he had done to deserve magic marrying such a person to him. It had been hard in the beginning, but worth it a hundred times over he decided as they kissed.

"I understand," he said smiling as they rested their foreheads together, "I like making you happy so, I'll give it a try."

A look of concern crossed the Gryffindor's face, "Newt if you're uncomfortable you – " he was silenced with another kiss.

"I'm not too sure about the idea of _hurting_ you," he assured the dark haired man when they broke away, "But this is something you _like_ , and... I like making you happy. So I'm willing to try. If it turns out to be something I can't – that I don't like, I promise I'll tell you. And we'll stop." As much as he was sure it would disappoint the Gryffindor, Newt also knew that Harry would never forgive himself if Newt continued doing something he was unhappy with just to please him. Harry had been very adamant that honesty and communication were _paramount_ when doing things like this, there were boundaries that had to be respected.

"If you're sure..." he trailed off doubtfully.

Newt kissed him again, feeling his insides start to squirm with anticipation. "Yes."

 _ **000**_

Harry moved gingerly the next day as they checked out of the small hotel, but he seemed to be in a perfectly good mood if a little more affectionate than he normally was when they were in non-magical public. He had a silly smile at the corner of his lips, and would sometimes purposefully brush up against him as they walked, little touches, discreet, but all the more obvious to the Hufflepuff because usually he was _so_ careful to keep distance when around muggles. It was a trial of Newt's self control not to return the affection, not to drag him close, kiss him, touch him, anything of the sort. A small part of him was very embarrassed that the change in his husband's behaviour more than likely stemmed from their activities the previous evening. The other was _very_ smug, and pleased with himself.

He was still a little dubious when it came to hurting Harry, but he _had_ enjoyed the previous evening himself. Surprisingly so.

The only problem there was that once Harry had gotten all worked up like that, he was _insatiable_.

The morning had been a test of self-restraint as they cleaned up _properly_. The bruises on Harry's body had darkened considerably, and the red of his buttocks had only lightened somewhat, and as _tempted_ as Newt was to take him up against the shower wall, he knew that Harry was undoubtedly _very_ sore inside from the previous evening, so he kept his hands to himself. Even when Harry practically crawled into his lap once they were both dressed, just to cuddle.

And that was just the beginning. As soon as they got out of the town and into the wilderness, not only did _Newt_ have difficulty keeping his hands to himself (Harry made the _best_ noises when he squeezed or touched, jerking and wiggling those abused places), but Harry was a lot clingier than his usual. Enough so that Newt almost tripped over him once or twice while they were walking. It would have been frustrating, and annoying, and it was to be honest, only every time he stopped to ask Harry to give him some space, the Gryffindor would lean up and steal a kiss – and suddenly Newt didn't care that he had almost tripped for the nth time that day, he would be too busy wrapping his arms around his husband and nuzzling into his hair.

The opportunity to make the best of a cuddly Harry was probably why they stopped to make camp a little earlier than normal. It gave Newt time to work on a bit more of his manuscript, all the while with the Gryffindor very comfortably tucked up in his lap. And when his papers lost his interest, running his hands through the former auror's long hair as they talked about anything under the sun was just as good.

 _ **000**_

 **Okay, I know I said this chapter would probably have a sex scene in it, and it DOES, but not the one I intended. You can probably tell which one I planned on doing, but then the scene kind of went a bit... sideways on me. I actually prefer it this way though. Actual** **adult** **communication in a relationship is my** **jam** **. Seriously, there is not enough of it in fanfiction, and that upsets me.**

 **Fun fact, I lived briefly with a guy so heavily into the kink scene he had a gun bag filled with shit like cat'o'nine tails, police riot whips, carpet beaters, and knives. And he was** _ **not**_ **shy about telling me anything I was curious about. Edward was so far out of the kink closet he actually broke the brain of his therapist once while trying to explain the fact that he was a vegan Buddhist who just so happened to be a sadist with a leather fetish. Poor woman had never actually heard of the BDSM scene. Apparently now she's a regular at his Saturday night Munch Club where the over 30's come to play with one another (fully clothed, no intercourse, or sex play).**

Link to the uncensored chapter is on my profile.


	18. Chapter 18

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Eighteen**

Kenya was a beautiful country. The problem was the British people _in_ it.

Harry wasn't very up to date on his History, junior school covered ancient history, and a lot of the second world war, but other than that, _nothing_. So he hadn't the faintest lick of an idea that barely five years ago the British had literally moved into Kenya, colonised it, and basically annexed their Sultan to Zanzibar before taking up all their prime-real estate with their war veterans and watching the youth implode on themselves squabbling to try and obtain some national identity – only to tear themselves apart again as arguments rose up on almost everything under the sun up to and including, genital mutilation, cattle herding, land ownership, and even ritual tribute.

In short, Kenya was a political mess and it was the fault of white Brits.

They steered clear of muggle areas, not that magical ones were much better in all honesty. The Young Kikuyu Association was a group dedicated to a peaceful and structured liberation of Kenyan interests from European control – at least as far as the muggles were aware. The magicals there-in made _certain_ of it.

 _ **000**_

It was as they watched a small herd of erumpet, it happened.

The huge herbivores were winter-breeders, the females going into heat in the mid-late November so as to give birth at the beginning of the dry-season. For the entirety of the dry season the calf would survive off its mother's milk, having no need of vegetation it had a higher chance of survival, and would be weaned once the rains began again, and food became more bountiful. Harry made sure they were watching from a safe distance, recalling a passage in a certain book that they were researching for _right now_ that the males had a certain bad habit of – there we go – exploding each other during fights over females.

Newt wrinkled his nose, "I am rather glad you forced us to keep our distance now," he murmured, looking decidedly paler than normal beneath his freckles and his tan. Harry hummed lazily, sprawled in the grass beside him, gladly wallowing in the warm sun as his husband did his research. The Hufflepuff grimaced, looking a little queasy as blood and viscera rained down on the bleating herd as they moved away from the gory corpse of the defeated male.

"Yeah. That fluid is pretty potent. Luna's father gave her an erumpet horn he was convinced came from a different creature. It had been mostly drained, but there was enough in there to blow their entire house up, wards and all," the Gryffindor explained idly with a small twist of his mouth. Xenophilius had apologised profusely, and while Harry accepted his reasons for what he did, he still didn't like the man. Madder than a tree full of squirrels hopped up on coffee beans that bloke. Luna loved him dearly, but it didn't change the fact the man needed help.

Newt was suddenly on his feet and running with a breathy noise of dismay.

Harry blinked, and then twisted to his hands and knees in alarm – what was he

He scrambled to his feet when he saw his husband pelting flat-out towards the herd, the bleating creatures stumbling gracelessly as wizards on scraggly brooms and carpets circled them, lashing their flanks with curses. Poachers. At least, Harry _thought_ they were poachers? At first? They were wearing muggle style _military_ uniforms! Olive green fatigues, and little red hats, shouting at one another in Swahili – gods Harry hated Swahili, he understood it, but could never get his _lips_ around it.

He didn't see what hit him from behind, just that one moment he was catching up to the Hufflepuff, the next he was in in midair and his entire right hand side was flaring in pain.

Then he noticed the arm around him, and turned.

One of the men in his neat little uniform bared his teeth down at him, face patterned with animagus scar-markings, some manner of bird he assumed from the feathering. But either way. The man was on a broom, and he was flying Harry _away from his husband_.

He grabbed the broom in one hand and _tore_ its safety charms to pieces, brutally seizing control of it. It was a model he didn't know, older even than that Silver Arrow he practised on in his Third Year when he was without a broom. No where near as sturdy, or reliable as the old war broom (Madam Hooch had told him once that the Arrows were created specifically for WW1 use, that she herself had flown one in the conflict and nearly been taken out by muggle mortar fire, a new invention at the time). It was easy to take control of it with raw magical force.

And that was when he got malicious.

The broom suddenly dropped beneath them, the nose rearing up even as the brush turned in a sharp, _brutal_ circle, neatly flicking the both of them off it as it shot up into the air – only Harry was expecting it, and far more used to such vicious movements. He maintained his grip on the shaft.

The owner yelled as he dropped to the unforgiving ground ten feet below them even as Harry wrapped a leg around the broom and used his own momentum from the spin to get himself seated. Fast enough to give any lesser flyer whiplash, Harry turned hard and shot back towards his husband and the swarming men harrying the erumpet herd.

"Newt!" Harry called, tilting on the broom to hold an arm out for the mythozoologist. The curly haired man paused just long enough for the Gryffindor to snatch him up, and get settled in behind him.

"They're trying to steal the whole herd!" the Hufflepuff shouted over the wind and bellows of the huge creatures up ahead.

"How's your aim?!" Harry shouted back.

"Better now I'm not running!" A stunner whipped past Harry's ear as the mythozoologist opened fire.

It was chaos.

It took everything Harry had to steer the broken ancient broom through the spellfire, stampeding and heaving erumpet, flashing men on brooms and carpets. Newt was quick with his wand, and his aim was good, men were dropping like flies – and if they were lucky their comrades got them out before they got trampled by the panicked herbivores.

One of the females when down, a lucky stunner catching her in the eye, her huge bulk crumpling into the dirt with an almighty _bang_ that sent the rest of the herd into a panicked frenzy even greater than before.

Harry pulled the broom up, hauling both he and Newt up and out of the madness as suddenly – the female vanished, a group of men physically jumping off a passing carpet to land on her, and then vanishing. Either in a group portkey activation, or side-along apparation.

Newt made a noise of alarm, bringing his wand up in a hasty shield – the grenade lit up bare inches from it and the two of them were _flung_ into the near-by scrub by the force of the explosion.

 _ **000**_

Newt's ears were ringing. His face felt hot and tight, and he was dizzy. But he was familiar enough with the sensation to push through it. The grenade was remarkably parred down from the mortars he'd had to deal with on the Eastern Front, to say nothing of _dragon fire_. He scrambled across the grass gracelessly, ignoring the broken broom as he got to Harry's side. The Gryffindor was unconscious, lump on the side of his head, but he hadn't been burnt, and there were no splinters or wooden shards from the broken broom in his flesh. He would probably have a few very uncomfortable bruises here and there – but _thankfully_ Newt had been fast enough with the shield charm.

He didn't want to think about what kind of state either of them would have been in without it.

" _Rennervate_ ," he incanted, wand pointed at Harry's chest.

The Gryffindor gasped, eyes flying open as he bolted upright, looking around wildly even as his hand twisted a wand into his palm looking for attackers. But they were alone. The men had vanished as soon as they obtained the one female, cutting their losses, and the herd had spooked hard enough to flee in opposite directions from the sound of the explosion. They wouldn't be stopping for love nor money for several miles at the very least.

"Who were those men?" Newt asked, unable to hear himself but sounding very small regardless as he looked around them, and then proceeded to summon their packs and their precious suitcase.

Harry slowly got his breathing under control, shaking his head rapidly, "What?!" he shouted over the ringing in his ears.

Newt huffed a laugh that he couldn't hear. He caught the Gryffindor's chin and pressed a brief kiss to his lips, "Never mind," he said. He didn't know what he would have done if Harry had been hurt beyond his ability to heal. The thought of it made his stomach twist coldly. He kissed him again, just to reassure himself he was still there, still fine. If grumpy.

 _ **000**_

Newt was subdued for the next few days, upset that they hadn't been able to help the erumpet, and that the herd had been broken up irreparably as a result of the chaos. Harry was more than a little pissed off about it as well – were they going to run into poachers and black market potions dealers in _every_ country they went to, he wondered?

It was still better than Dark Lords at least, he admitted, at least to himself. Somehow he didn't think Newt would share that good will when it came to the abduction of an innocent creature. He was a lot like Hermione in that respect.

They continued travelling, having no way of knowing who the group of wizards were, where they had gone, or whether or not they were _legal_. Which, given how they were in military uniforms was... debatable. They got to observe a few somewhat displaced Tebo, the warthogs were traditionally more common in the Congo but like many creatures they were being pushed out of their natural habitats due to muggle activities. Still, it was nice to watch them in the wild, both Harry and Newt had very carefully gone about reintroducing some of their own Tebo into the group. It seemed to go well, at least until the lead female took exception and drove them out. Of course, finding their strays while they were invisible was impossible, and they lost the two to the wilds. Hopefully they would have better luck with other groups. They decided to hold off on releasing the others until they reached the Congo.

They found a small boggy area within trees, and scrub, positively teaming with streeler. Harry had been fascinated by the huge snails, while Newt had been more interested in collecting their secretions, and studying their eating habits.

They made camp just outside the boggy area, and got to work. The Hufflepuff exploring the qualities of the secretions, and their potential uses in potions. Harry already knew they were useful within cleaning potions, but the Hufflepuff wanted to look into potential medical uses, and was picking the former auror's brain for any potential uses a corrosive substance could be. Thus far, they had theorised it to have further uses in wart-removal, cleaning up necrosis, and wound sterilisation. While Newt once again delved into observing their habits, Harry turned his attention to breaking the secretions down to its chemical components in order to place it more effectively on his potions periodic table.

It was during the third day they spent camping that the strange military-esque wizards appeared.

The sun was high, and a faint wind was taking the sting out of the heat as the former auror worked on his cauldron, a certain curly haired mythozoologist wrapped around him, chin perched on top of his head, arms wrapped around his stomach, fingers threaded between the buttons in order to stroke the warm skin of the Gryffindor's stomach. Mei was perched upon one of the wooden support poles, singing cheerfully as she fanned her feathers in the sunlight, Harry singing with her, even as Newt hummed against the back of his neck, eyes closed, and swaying from side to side.

Harry chuckled, "You are completely tone-deaf," he said, grinning as he heard the Hufflepuff laughed into his hair.

"Indeed. You should hear my brother and I trying to sing ' _God Rest ye Merry Hippogriffs_ ' every Christmas," he laughed.

"Can't be any worse than my godfather," Harry decided lazily as he began stirring in the other direction, the potion turning from a lump grey colour to a shimmery silver.

Newt opened his mouth to ask, he was very curious about Harry's past, the personal things, the little stories that hadn't been important to his war, but rarely wanted to push him for answers for fear of making him sad. Usually he would wait until Harry offered something, an opening, to continue the conversation to some of the less painful things while he was in a good mood.

The bog exploded.

 _ **000**_

It was a common saying, that if you wanted to deal with an English Wizard, you had best bring more than ten men. General Sa'id Ochuku had never put much veracity into such claims. The British were weak willed, greedy beasts, but stupid, easily lead, and _soft_. He was, however, no idiot. Better to be safe than sorry, as the saying goes.

For the two British men that had attacked his expedition earlier in the week, he took thirty of his best wizards, and confronted them himself.

Stood back, away from the conflict, with binoculars to his eyes, he felt his blood quicken and his breath turn sharp as the thirty _went. Down._ All of them, to the last. Dispatched between the two white men with almost insulting ease in a rain of multicoloured light and movement. A tall man who defended their camp in place, and a small man who apparated smoothly, swiftly, like a shadow flickering in and out of view stealing the consciousness of his men. But not killing them.

A flash of red.

He adjusted his binoculars, the two had stopped moving now, it was easier to see them.

A phoenix...

Slowly, he lowered his binoculars. It seemed as though the men who rejected Heaven had found their way into his country, the very same ones that gutted his economy by shutting down his contacts in Hong Kong. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It would have taken two months via non-magical ship to get to China, and two months to return... How long did they spend in China? Were they perhaps responsible for the sorry state of his previous operation in Zaire? Those poor bastards with the brains of ten year olds had to be put down for he had no use of children, and no patience or care to reteach them to make themselves useful.

Power.

Sa'id _liked_ power. _Lusted_ for it. And those who carried it.

He liked to _break_ them.

He smiled darkly, licking his lips. To have such men on a leash at his feet... mmm, bent to his will, broken by his hand, that power wielded at his command. Yes. _Yes_.

'When dealing with an English Wizard, you had best bring more than ten men'. For these two, he would bring an _army_.

 _ **0000**_

 **I'm sorry that this is SO frickin' short. But I have been** **struggling** **with this arc. Sa'id is very plot important for more reasons than just being a total creeper with a power-kink and love of Western arabian nights style romance novels (gotta love the hilariously inaccurate harem fantasy 1800's brits had, the fucking morons).**

 **Like I said, I'm struggling with this arc, but it's one I literally can't skip like I did the Borneo arc I had planned where Newt met his first Acromantula. I figured I'd post this up rather than making you wait another two weeks. Hopefully the feedback will BOOT me from my brain-locked bluh mode.**

 **So please, feedback appreciated. Save me from myself.**

Due to request the name of Sa'id has been changed. All characters within my fics unless otherwise stated are fictional, all resemblances to peoples living or dead is entirely coincidental.


	19. Chapter 19

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Nineteen**

With the small streeler habitat on fire, and the ground littered with the unconscious bodies of multiple military inspired witches and wizards, both Harry and Newt moved fast to rescue as many of the now displaced streeler as they could before quickly escaping from the scene of the 'crime', as it were. While Newt sorted things out in the suitcase, Harry snatched up his Magnificent Bastard, hopped on, and sped away, suitcase strapped to his back after making sure the burning bog wasn't going to start some kind of hellish bushfire that would take out over fifty miles of overly dry savannah.

Harry didn't stop until they were a good fifty miles away from the site, and in a nicely defensible area. After using his kit to check for any undesirables, Harry quickly went around resetting up their camp, and as much as he _really_ wanted to put them up, he left it wardless. It would be a beacon to anyone actually looking for them, and Harry was not confident enough in his warding to hold back tank fire in all honesty.

Setting the suitcase down, he knocked on it and opened the lock so Newt could join him when he was finished settling the streelers. It had been just over an hour since he landed so he should have almost been finished. It wasn't long before a somewhat harassed looking Hufflepuff popped his head out, looking vexed.

"The graphorn is in labour," he announced without preamble, ducking back into the case.

Of all that could have happened-

Harry sighed deeply and quickly hurried down to join him. It wasn't that he could _help_ with the labour, but rather more that he knew if something went wrong, Newt would rush in to help regardless of his personal safety, and probably get on the wrong side of the male graphorn in a protective rage over his mate and unborn calves. By the time the Gryffindor arrived at the cold desert enclosure that mimicked the steppes of Russia, Newt was hovering outside, watching and wary of the new family within as the mother gently examined her newborn with delicate ropey tendrils. The male was a short distance away, pawing roughly at the sand, keeping half an eye on Newt and Harry, and half an eye on his mate. That he hadn't attacked them yet was a testament to how long and how carefully Newt had been handling the two of them. He was nervous, but not aggressive.

But it wasn't over, not yet. The female graphorn moaned in discomfort, her massive bulk keeling over as she flopped back onto her side, huffing deeply. The reason why became only too obvious barely a moment later when her sides began to clench and heave, legs spasming and jerking.

Newt made a noise of shock and excitement, "Twins! She's having twins!"

Ah, of course, Newt would be entirely unaware right now, wouldn't he? These were the last _known_ breeding graphorns (he was fairly sure there was a herd far, _far_ to the east of Russia lingering on the edges of Mongolia migrating between the borderlands of the Chinese cold desert the Taklamakan and the Gobi). Harry had forgotten that it was _Newt_ who originally discovered that graphorns gave birth to twins, that it was actually very rare, and a sign of poor health, if a female only birthed the one.

Quietly, the two watched the second calf being birthed. Newt was practically vibrating with the need to go over, but with the young family so vulnerable he didn't dare. Instead, Harry found himself with a somewhat crushed hand when the Hufflepuff blindly grabbed at his fingers, holding his hand without looking, a lot tighter than he would normally. The Gryffindor found his mouth opening a little in pain, fuck, what kind of _grip_ did – mental note, no handjobs, ever.

"Newt, could you – loosen – _thank you_ ," he managed to get out when the Hufflepuff realised he was crushing his hand and quickly let go, Harry grimaced in relief, carefully flexing his fingers before smiling and retaking his hand. "Better."

 _ **000**_

A few hours after the birth, the male finally calmed down enough to let Newt approach, Harry hung well back as he wasn't nearly as accepted by the graphorn couple as the mythozoologist. The two calves were healthy, their horns little more than butter soft nubs, their tendrils as delicate as spider webs as they curiously explored Newt's fingers, the Hufflepuff laying his hands out flatly for them to examine, only having to pull away the once when the elder of the two curiously nipped at a finger.

While Newt furiously scribbled notes, feverishly noting down everything from the calves' height, weight, the consistency of their horns and tendrils, the size of their hooves, along with what little gender dimorphism was present already at their young ages, Harry turned his attention to the remains of his potions equipment that now needed scrubbing up. All that work in breaking down the streeler secretions for placement, lost. He sighed and summoned his potions brush, and a bucket which he then charmed with hot soapy water. He could always begin again. It wasn't like he was going to run out of supplies any time soon with well over twenty of the massive land-snails currently occupying several habitats. At least they were pretty to look at while he scrubbed his cauldron clean.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight.

Harry slowly lowered his scrubbing brush, frowning slightly in concern...

Why was he now getting a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach?

He set the cauldron to one side and quickly jogged to the shed, spotting Newt still at his desk making notes, chattering to Pickett who was cheerfully clinging to his little bonsai tree. Moriarty was in his little burrow, rearranging the buttons and coins Harry had given him to better reflect the artificial lights above into the deeper reaches of his burrow. Dougal was napping. Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup were happily basking on their heated rock. Godric the Nundu (really Newt?) was fastidiously cleaning his paws. Mei was preening amongst the fwoopers and the jobberknolls. The crups were sniffing around for the tebo whom they seemed to have developed some manner of playful relationship with and could often be found chasing the ash coloured warthogs around or sleeping in piles together.

The kneazles seemed to be the only ones as anxious as he was right now.

Kermit, the big one eyed tom, was prowling around close to the shed with bristling fur while the emaciated and patchy Miss Piggy had retreated under the table and was growling low in her throat with terror. Gonzo, Fuzzy, and Animal were hiding under one of the empty tin buckets trembling with their ears laid flat in distress as they looked towards the shed.

Towards the exit.

Outside then.

Quietly, Harry slipped into the shed, pressing a kiss briefly to Newt's cheek as he passed so as not to worry him, Harry quickly climbed out of the case. The camp hadn't been disturbed as far as he could see. The horizon was dark with encroaching storm clouds but it didn't look as if they were in danger from it, they weren't in a flood basin, Harry had made sure to put their back to a rocky outcropping so that meant they were safe from lightning strikes (one of the few pieces of magic he had performed was to essentially 'earth' their tent-poles so if they did get struck it wouldn't cause any damage). So what was this feeling?

He heard the low boom of thunder and huffed.

Storms didn't set him off, no matter how awful they got. He actually rather enjoyed them. Disregarding the potential for being struck by lightning, he hadn't found much of anything that was more exhilarating than flying his firebolt through a particularly nasty storm.

Wait...

The booms had been _behind_ him – he was facing the storm clouds!

The shield charm he snapped up over the camp had been by the _skin_ of his teeth, and his back as he was blown off his feet, explosions splashing on the shield overhead and sending him skidding across the ground. He was fairly sure he'd lost several layers of skin to friction burns alone as he finally rolled onto his front and painfully levered himself to his feet.

The _fuck_ had that been?

Muggle weaponry?

He couldn't hear much over his ringing ears, and the world was swaying in a way that he could only associate with a close-range bombadra. He pointed his wand at his head and cast the revival charm, hissing in pain as it forced his scrambled brain to fire its synapses as it should have – cutting his disorientation off at the knees. He would regret it severely later, the migraines would be particularly _blinding_. But he needed focus, and he needed it _now_.

Multiple people apparated in, and Harry snapped his wands out, stunning charms flaring scarlet light between them.

And the fight began.

More and more, and _more_ – like a never ending rain. Men in uniform apparated in, they went down, their comrades got them up again, and Harry put them back down. Rinse – repeat. He didn't know why they were attacking, whether they were military or not. But until he had an idea, it was probably best to stick with non-lethal or risk setting off a political shit-storm that could start a war between England and Africa's magical communities.

At least the muggle bombs had stopped raining down onto the small camp. The downside was that the storm was now on them.

The sky was black, a cold wind had begun to whip through the fighters, the frantic energy of the fight, not nearly silent, yet still somehow quieter than it should have been, almost smothered by the overbearing _power_ overhead.

And then the sky growled, flashing, and the heavens opened.

As if his ears popped, sound became sharper, lights brighter, and the colours of the spells changed.

The rain came down in thick grey sheets. Fat warm drops that soaked him through to the bone in seconds, flooding the thirsty sun parched earth until until it turned sticky thick with mud. Until even the most sure-footed of fighters were slipping and sliding.

Lightning flashed. And thunder shattered the sky immediately after. The dirty ambient light of the battlefield thrown into stark painful white relief.

To fight in the middle of a storm on a bright sunny day was surreal. To see the horizon so bright, the people and places around you backlit in a strange almost dirty glow while the sky overhead was dark. A disconnect, a strange almost surreal dissonance between what was, and what should have been. And even with spells flashing light into almost painful colour, sun-spots left in their wake as his skin tingled with the feel of their passing, it felt like he fought in a dream as he moved, dodging, ducking, and weaving between men, and spells.

Harry ducked a purple spell and summoned a wave of wind to blow the three men in front of him off their feet, he rolled forward under a second spell from behind, summoning the dirt from under his feet to engulf another man.

He ran forward, leapt, driving both feet into a man's face and launched himself off the unconscious soldier, a banishing charm pushing him harder and faster, higher, into the air as he kicked his legs out, twisting upside down and began to fire spells.

Ten went down before his feet touched the ground and the Gryffindor was skidding under another volley of spells as he lunged into the knot of casters, a triple layered _soronous_ and banishing charm in his mouth as he bellowed – the force of the yell flinging his head back in time to miss the fizzing scarlet of a stunning charm whiz past his nose.

He fell back, twisting to plant a hand on the ground and kicked a spray of mud and water into a man's eyes. He dropped a moment later when Harry's wand found its mark.

He couldn't do this forever.

Eventually he would tire.

Just how many men _were_ there? And who was controlling them, ordering them in?

Green eyes narrowed, and Harry bolted. He had to time this right or he would just make himself a sitting target.

The air pressure changed and he grabbed a soldier by the arm, he twisted his wand from his fingers and jumped up onto his shoulders.

The sky flashed a blinding white, and Harry jumped into the air once more while everyone around him was blinded.

He flexed his magic and pushed himself higher into the sky, out of immediate eye-sight as the spells continued to flash down below him.

With a bird's-eye view, he could see the goddamn _army_ laid out beneath him, like a mass of crawling red ants on a pale sandy hill. He had been successful in carefully leading them away from Newt and their camp. None of them suspected a thing and the fighting was still _boiling_ down below – amusingly they were taking each other out now. But he couldn't see anyone seemingly in command of the rabble. No unique uniform, no specific hat. Not down there, no.

He cast his eyes further afield.

Thunder boomed, and Harry's eyes bugged out – _that wasn't thunder!_

" _ **PROTEGO MAXIMA!**_ " he bellowed, bringing both wands up as multiple muggle bombs screamed towards him.

The explosion flung him out of the sky like a rag-doll.

He hit the ground, barely aware of anything, his ears ringing. It felt like everything was underwater.

All he knew was that he was surrounded by enemies.

Distantly he could hear booming.

Hands grabbed at him – he forced his rubbery limbs to move, spells flashing as the world around him went fuzzy, fading in and out of focus, bright, too bright, and then too dark.

No one was allowed to touch him!

His spells grew teeth, and so did he.

He couldn't _see_!

He couldn't _hear_!

Why was everything so far away, underwater, distorted – what was that ringing?

" - _rry_ \- "

He lashed out, something hot and wet splashed across his face and the world went red for a moment. He blinked, and it was gone, he staggered and fell. Bruising his knuckles in the muddy sand.

The ground exploded on his left and a man landed on him.

He ripped him apart, terrified, confused -

" - _h – rr – arr – ha-ry -_ "

Newt?

Something overhead screamed, and the world flashed -

Black.

 _ **000**_

Horror.

Horror, terror, _**fury**_.

Newt didn't – he didn't know what – Harry was _gone_.

He didn't even know – what had happened.

He had come out of his suitcase, wondering where his husband had gotten off to, half-hoping that there was food on the go because he was starting to get a little peckish, and it was getting towards that time. Only to find a small scale _war_ going on not even half a mile away from their camp – and Harry – oh merlin, _Harry_.

Newt saw it.

That exact moment.

Five muggle mortar shells hitting his hastily conjured shield charm, and _what_ a shield charm it had been. He had seen many a man torn apart by just the one shell hoping that a protego would protect him only to learn the hard way that muggle weaponry had just the one purpose. Harry went down. He went down _hard_.

And Newt ran, his heart in his throat as he saw the strange soldiers trying to grab at the fallen Gryffindor only to be completely _torn apart_ by the shell-shocked, disorientated former auror who could no longer temper his reactions to non-lethal.

He heard the distinct booming roar of another shell firing, and felt his heart lodge itself in his throat. Harry was too disorientated, too _wall eyed_ , to even hear that, let alone protect himself from it!

Mei screeched, her wings scything through the air as she shot past him, throwing herself directly in front of the mortar, in front of Harry – and exploded. Her tiny body frozen in a single breathless photo-still, a single beat, and then she was consumed in fire and rage. Like a memory, or a flashback, he had seen it before, but with larger shapes, with different voices, in a colder place much further away, and he knew he would replay these moments again in his nightmares.

He was half aware of her dropping to the ground in a puddle of ash, nothing more than a pingpong ball sized chick, naked and pale.

His attention was on the way Harry was thrown backwards by the blast, on the group of men that began to circle him, wary of getting too close when he was surrounded by the remains of fools who had been too careless in approaching him, when he had proved himself still capable of butchering those who got too close despite his lack of focus. Or rather, because of it.

But it didn't matter, not in the long run. The Gryffindor hadn't been moving, and Newt could see very little of him as he desperately ran, sprinting through the soldiers, firing spells left and right in his desperation to get to him, only half aware of the Kneazles that followed him from his case tripping soldiers that tried to attack while his back was turned. Harry's eyes were closed, and what little of his face that Newt could see in the flashing spell fire had run red with a _river_ of blood.

And then he was gone.

Snatched when one of the soldiers realised exactly what Newt had done – that he was unconscious and unable to fight anymore. That the last mortar fire had knocked what little consciousness he had out of him.

He roared.

The inhuman bellow of a Ukrainian Ironbelly _tearing_ across the battlefield, and terrifying the soldiers still remaining into breaking, not knowing what the sound was but not wanting to face it regardless.

They scattered, like startled cats, scrambling in every direction to avoid a danger they couldn't see without knowing where it even came from.

Three ran straight into him, realising far too late they went in the wrong direction when the Mythozoologist put them down. With _prejudice_.

But it didn't matter.

Harry was gone. Taken.

And a shout had gone up amongst the soldiers remaining, they were leaving, grabbing their unconscious and injured comrades, those they could reach, and apparating away with all speed. Cutting their losses while they could. The storm overhead raging on.

Newt panted, his chest heaving as he stared across the battlefield, feeling ragged, raw, and numb all at the same time.

They had – they had _taken_ Harry.

Thunder rumbled over head, and Newt dropped his face into his hands.

 _He was just going to have to take him_ _ **back**_.

 _ **000**_

 **BOOM.**

 **Chapter 19, and Newt gets his time to shine! Woop woop!**

 **Yeah, originally it was** **Newt** **who was going to get snatched, but then I thought 'Harry always saves the day. He needs to be saved at least once me thinks. He needs someone to prove to him that he can be protected too'. So the roles were reversed.**

 **And to the guy who keeps complaining that Harry shouldn't keep being taken by surprise – stop. Just stop. Only Grindelwald and Dumbledore could take Harry in a straight up fight. If you want kerb-stomping God-mode Harry, where everything goes right and completely in his favour, look else where. Harry might be a fucking beast in a fight, but he has vulnerabilities same as everyone else. He isn't omnipotent. And if there were no conflict, this would make for a very VERY boring (if fluffy) fic.**


	20. Chapter 20

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twenty**

 _ **Warning: Some potentially incorrect information on Islam, I researched, I asked around, I'm still not sure if I got it right. I'm sorry, please don't hate me DDD8**_

Truth serum was time-consuming, difficult, and very, _very_ illegal to make without the appropriate licenses and qualifications in both healing and potioneering. The ingredients were obscenely hard to come by, and both disgustingly and prohibitively expensive. The recipes were closely guarded secrets, known to very few aurors, and potion masters.

And Newt had a cauldron finished within an hour.

Harry had taught him a lot about potions in the year they had been together, Newt had complete access to all of his papers and research notes, his short-hand recipe guides for this or that, his periodic tables for ingredients, reaction tables, core element tables for each ingredient and their reaction levels. With that information, he was able to 'jury rig' a quick and dirty Truth Serum that would have gotten him arrested back in England for even daring to use it without peer review, experimentation, or approval from a certified medi-healer who would be on hand with a bottle of heavy duty purgative just in case. If Nurse Sillence, his brother, _or_ Leta knew about this they would have his guts for garters.

But Newt was beyond caring (much – he made sure to have the purgative on hand, along with all of the healing potions Harry had in his kit as well) as he ennervated one of his partially healed and heavily restrained prisoners.

The man groaned as he came to, wincing in pain from his injuries, and then beginning to panic when, upon trying to move, he found himself chained to his seat. Terrified brown eyes turned to him in confusion, and then horrified recognition. The near incoherent babble that followed was reassuringly half-english, and half-zulu – one of the languages Harry had been coaching him in (unsurprisingly he was making better progress with Zulu than he had with any of his attempts to learn other tongues, likely because Harry had been using kisses and other such things as rewards for correct answers, providing him with some very sweet incentives to work harder than he normally would have done).

He was not an interrogator, he honestly didn't know what he was doing, but humans were animals just like any other despite their higher brain function. And despite the urge to calm the man down and reassure him that he wouldn't be hurt as he would have done to any creature, the Hufflepuff instead waited, and watched. Until the man ran out of steam and fell into nervous silence when he realised that the white man wasn't going to speak.

" _Your comrades have taken my husband. Where?_ "

No question of why they were targeted, why Harry was taken, how they were found, or who they were. They could be the South African branch of the Holly Head Harpies fanclub and it would have made as much difference to him as their being devotees of Grindelwald. They. Had. Taken. Harry. Their reasons were meaningless in the face of that simple fact. They had hurt, potentially _permanently_ , his husband, and abducted him to locations unknown for reasons unknown at wandpoint.

He liked to think his voice was steady, even, _reasonable_. But he knew there was an undertone of a growl, and so did his prisoner if the way his eyes widened and a sweat began to glisten on his twisting features. His eyes darted frantically here and there, trying to buy time, to think, or look for an escape. But there was none. Newt had transfigured them a small tent and charmed the walls black, above them was a hovering lamp, and nothing else. Just him, the chair, the young man, and the lamp. Nothing else could be seen, nothing else could be heard save for Newt's voice as he crouched on the balls of his feet in front of the youth, balanced with his fingertips pressed together, elbows on his knees, watching him through his hair.

It itched, a little, to be patient. Harry was who knew where, in who knew what condition, with whom, who wanted who knew _what_ from his tiny powerhouse of a _timetravelling husband_ , who knew too much, and had caused a great deal of trouble where-ever it was he went.

But he waited, never moving, not even blinking as he watched.

Long hours spent completely motionless, unable to blink or risk attack from the creatures he came nose to nose with on a daily basis, he was steady, and rock solid. Harry could use him as a step-ladder like this and he wouldn't even wobble (he actually had at one point). It was just a matter of time until the youth broke and started talking. And once he did, Newt would feed him. And ask again, just to make _certain_ that his answers were truthful.

Eventually, his patience was rewarded.

 _ **000**_

Sa'id had wanted both of the English men. But with the decimation just _one_ of them caused his men, he doubted he would have managed to get them both. He had lost only ten to death, twenty more to injuries that were caused by friendly fire and multiple applications of curses, jinxes, and hexes, and another five were missing in action. Had the white man _not_ restrained himself to non-lethal, he would have lost something far closer to two hundred judging by the number of men and women who had needed to be rennervated, healed, dejinxed, dehexed, and decursed.

Stood in his personal office, the white man's personal effects and clothing laid out in front of him, he tried to garner some manner of clue as to his personality. Just which of the two was he dealing with? The Parselmouth, or the Mythozoologist? The Dark Lord slayer, or the Dragon Caretaker? The man that wriggled his way free of an Empress, or the one that straight up rejected her?

Two wands. One that fairly hummed with light magic, and another that dripped with something far more sinister – just putting his hand near that wand made his fingernails curl in discomfort.

A short tunic of light weight cotton, plain white, dirty bloody, a little burnt, and sweat stained. Nothing truly discernible about it beyond the tightness of the weave, the quality of the cotton. It was exceptionally high quality. And conjured. That indicated that his latest acquisition was either so used to the high-quality product (doubtful), or he was both _that_ skilled at the field of transfiguration, and possessing an eye for detail that would make his best magic users weep in envy (and terror). His trousers were of similar make, but sturdier. A faded blue thick cotton weave that felt far more akin to thick linen than canvas, they too were dirty, bloodied, and burnt, but also possessed evidence of various creatures. Kneazle hairs, crup fur, and a single scarlet feather hidden within a pocket. A phoenix feather. Little more than a tuft of down from a breast, but obscenely valuable all the same. And he just walked around with it in a pocket.

Strange stretchy underwear of similar cotton fabric to his tunic, socks that were also stretchy, and sturdy dragon hide boots not unlike his soldiers own but layered with so many spells and charms it would take his scholars months to dissect and categorise them.

The man had nothing else on him, within his pockets, or his person. Save the ring.

Sa'id had thought it possibly enchanted, so he took it. But, boringly, it was exactly as it appeared. A simple silver ring. Practically worthless in that it was poor quality silver, slightly tarnished, scuffed and scratched, and without even a marker's mark to trade on.

Such a mystery his new plaything was.

The general sat back at his desk, rubbing his chin with one hand.

For the moment, the white man was being kept separate from the rest of his toys. He was still too wild, untamed, to be allowed to wonder free amongst the other men. At least until he was broken. Perhaps he should have him castrated and put with the women like some of the others? Or should he be kept separate like the other men? Hmm, becoming a eunuch may temper some of that inner fire, but on the other hand, that flame was what he desired most. Well, it mattered not for now, he had all the time in the world to deal with his new toy.

If his father had the slightest idea of the way Sa'id lived now...

He had been raised as a dutiful son of Islam, he, his younger brother, and his two sisters. They were not magical, his family. His mother had been, as the British would call her, muggleborn. Arranged to be wed as a child as was custom, when she was approached by the magicals, their mother had eagerly leapt at the chance for her only daughter to learn witchcraft – only for her to be swiftly yanked away at the age of thirteen in order to wed the man her father chose many a year ago despite their agreement that she would finish her education before they were wed. She would never finish, the family had fallen on hard times, and her bride-price was needed. Sa'id was their first born. He too had been magical, as had his very youngest sister, Avinda. They had been raised to be loyal and dedicated to Allah, to follow the word of Muhammad as written within the Quran. And they had been, all of them to the last. He had done his duty in caring for his sisters, he had taken responsibility for their family at a young age as his father grew aged, as his brother began to act out, he had looked over their neighbours, tended to the elderly, he had listened to his father and mother _always_. He had been the _perfect_ son.

And then his father beheaded Avinda. She had been eight.

Sa'id had – not understood at first. He had been little more than a child himself. Only fourteen. His mother had been teaching him what little bits of magic she could in secret, she had put him into contact with a respected scholar, the husband of a dear friend she knew from her own lessons, and he had learned. He had been looking forward to introducing Avinda to his mother's friend, the scholar's wife who was also a teacher of magic, who would have been able to tutor her while protecting her honour from the scandal of learning in a mixed environment. He had wished to see his youngest sister fly as high as the sun and bring honour to their family. His father had not agreed. And neither had the Imam who encouraged him to visit Hisbah onto his youngest sister.

The Quran teaches that one must return cruelty with kindness, as bad manners and deeds earn vices. That _forgiveness_ , _justice_ , kindness, piety, honesty, and _righteousness_ were the _**core**_ of morality within his faith.

 _That_ _ **Justice**_ _was an obligation, not merely an ideal_.

 _'Repel evil with what was best'_.

Where was the justice for Avinda?

Where was the justice for his mother, torn from her future to marry a man twenty years her senior?

He had been raised a faithful son of Muhammad's teachings.

So he visited justice upon the men responsible for his younger sister's unjust murder. He became the very curse upon his father that Muhammad warned of within his teachings, ' _Allah had cursed those parents who compel their children to disobey them_ '.

Sa'id had not been a cruel child. He had not made his father, nor the Imam suffer in their punishment. He took their heads, and afforded them both as much honour as he could in their secret burial rights. Far more than they had given his sister. And _far more than they_ _ **deserved**_.

Sa'id had turned his back on his faith once he had buried his father.

It was a bitter irony to realise he was far more like the _wretch_ than he wished to be. Had he the opportunity to go back and deal with them again, he would not nearly be so kind. He would make them suffer for what they did. And he would enjoy it. Every second of it. For what was Allah and Muhammad to him? A figment of imagination in the mind of a madman, and a sorrowful priest who attempted to better the world and had his words twisted by men who sought power over everything else.

He had learned that power was the key to everything, to safety, to justice. Might made Right.

How ironic that he had started out with the best of intentions, only to look back and see the blood and bodies in his wake and no longer _care_. To be a man who enjoyed the screams of pain, the sticky red stains of blood, the crackle of _power_ across his skin.

For many years he continued to pray, he had doubted, turned his back on his faith after killing his father. But for years he had continued the farce. Continued to pretend even as it all crumbled. In the end, he cast aside all pretences once he became involved with the Young Kikuyu Association. It had been a small _peaceful_ group of muggles dedicated to the liberation of Kenyan interests from European control. They had been advocating the preservation of muggle owned land, specifically that of the Kikuyu tribe's and the surrounding farmers. Which was all well and good, but it was much, _much_ bigger than that fool Thuku realised. Many tribes began to flock to Thuku's banner, and unbeknownst to him, a number of them magical. The magical and muggle government rapidly became involved and opposed their aims. Most of their lands were dominated by foreigners who would not stand for any forceful representation of African economic, social, _or_ political views. The magicals especially did not appreciate their potions' supply cabinets becoming mightily bare when Thuku's tactics began to dry up trade between settlers and local tribes skilled in the harvesting and capture of those ingredients and creatures.

Thuku needed to go. So Sa'id made arrangements for the idiot man to be arrested back in '22, and deported to Kismayu. It was unlikely he would return until the '30s if he got _lucky_.

Amongst the muggles, the Kikuyu Association was peaceful. Sa'id made sure of it. With Thuku out of the way he was in quite the comfortable place, the man had never liked him not that Sa'id had cared for the weakling either. Too soft. But now, he had uncontested control over the puppets of the association, and through them their extensive network of magical tribes, and eventually, once the Government began to arrange meetings with delicious bribes, and piece-meal reforms to appease the muggle natives, he took control of them as well.

Kenya was in the palm of his hand.

But he had needed to finance his push into controlling the magical government somehow, he couldn't just stroll in, sit down, and call himself Sultan without opposition. Which was where his new tribal friends came in handy. One of the people they had been trading with was a Chinese apothecarian of somewhat shady connections. A few favours here and there, and suddenly he had all the funding, and foreign support he needed to make a bloody _push_ for leadership that unceremoniously succeeded.

He now occupied the _former_ Sultan's Palace.

And why should he not as the most powerful man in Africa? He held the muggle government in his palm, the magical seat was his, and the only true rebellion was one that _he_ had once headed. None of the muggles, nor the magicals that he lead had even the _faintest_ idea of just how much blood decorated his hands, and _it was hilarious._

Not one of them save for his playthings.

And that was half the fun, no one would believe them. They could scream it from the roof-tops and not a soul would come to their aid, they could run on broken glass across the desert as far as Egypt, and he need only speak of his tragically mentally disturbed third wife/husband and have them shipped back to him within the week. No one would believe them, and _they knew it_.

He looked out of his window to where his latest acquisition was grazing peaceably upon the garden greens, the large female erumpet was still stressed from her abduction, but she would recover soon enough. Then he would have the difficulty of finding a buyer for her now his Chinese contacts had been apprehended by the Empress.

Fresh ingredients were so much more lucrative.

 _ **000**_

Newt was having a sincerely uncomfortable morning.

After getting his answers from the young man, and quadruple checking with his compatriots in much the same fashion, Newt had journeyed to the nearest magical village to get some further information on just whom he was dealing with because three of those men had been _muggles_. And yet they had been aware of magic. Just what kind of man was he dealing with?

One who apparently had his fingers in _all_ of the pies if what the locals had told him was any indication.

There was not a single negative word spoken of General Sa'id Ochuka, the young go-getter from a tiny Kenyan village. Tragic how his father was killed by European thugs. Since then he had dedicated himself to peaceful revolution, working closely with the Young Kikuyu Association to represent the interests of the people. When the rabble rouser Harry Thuku was finally arrested, the Government had sought to calm the population by offering his right hand man the position of General within their defence forces, giving him the power to protect their country as he so desired. And he had been doing a _phenomenal_ job so far! There was no crime, no murder, everyone was happy. They couldn't recall a single bad thing happening to them since the young man really began to make some changes in the Government.

No one, that was, except the drunk old lady who lived at the edge of the village and glared at everyone, sucking on bottles of unidentified alcohol and tending to what had to be the entire population of feral dogs and cats for the surrounding three hundred miles.

She was far more informative.

" _He drugs the water,_ " she explained to him when he hesitantly offered to trade for information. Right now, Newt was working healing paste into her aching knee and ankle joints, listening to her intently. " _There is a creature. We call it the Swooping Evil, for you never see it until it has landed upon you. Men have been emptied by such monsters in the night while wondering carelessly through the trees. Those who escape, recall nothing but the best of their memories, they become addicted, they go looking for the beasts. They can no longer face a harsh world, and so they remove the hard, the dark, and the ugly bits and give them to the Evil. Eventually nothing is left of them_ ," she explained grunting a little as he worked on her feet, gritting her teeth against the pain of having her muscles unknotted.

" _What does this... Swooping Evil look like?_ " Newt asked curiously, it sounded like a fascinating creature and he would like to study it once he had Harry back. Plus, if this warlord General had several that he used to apparently erase bad memories, then it would be a creature he would have to tame before he could get to Harry _anyway_. He would have to be able to identify it at the very least so he could be on his guard.

The old woman hummed, and hissed through her teeth as his thumbs dug a burning line down the centre of her calf-muscles, it felt as though he were trying to tear them apart at the seam.

" _Like the bastard lovechild of a skull, bat, and a butterfly,_ " she declared with a short nod, " _It has the wings of a bat, camouflaged to look like a leaf as a butterfly would, but when opened, they are blue like the panes of stained glass in your Christian churches, like the butterflies of the jungle canopies. The skull of an infant cat. The tongue of a butterfly. It hangs like a seed-pod when sleeping, wings curled around it to appear harmless. It launches itself at its prey and aims for the head always. A large creature, six to eight handspans from wingtip to wingtip._

" _Ochuka has a garden of them. He milks them for their secretions and pours it into the drinking wells. The people... they remember nothing. My sons, my daughter... they remember nothing of the day that man marched into our village, and the streets ran red with blood. The blood of my children._ " The old woman shook her head, the lines of her mouth hard, her dark eyes bright and damp with pain and hate. " _They sing that man's praises because they don't know better. They remember nothing of beatings, of famine, of family members stolen. They rationalise it away even without memories to prove otherwise. They are addicted to the Swooping Evil's pleasure._

" _They will never remember. And they will never go against Ochuka._ "

 _ **000**_

Harry woke up naked and aching.

He had gotten used to that a while ago once he and Newt passed that final barrier in their relationship, but this was not the nice kind of ache that came with an evening well spent. It was the kind of ache that came with ten rounds against a Hungarian Horntail in a snit. And an afternoon of Wizengmot meetings. Merlin, his _head_.

Then the restraints registered when his attempt to rub his temples didn't happen quite as planned.

He hadn't gotten around to talking Newt into using bondage in their bedroom escapades just yet, which meant he'd probably been captured by someone. Motherfucker.

He wiggled his wrist, and sighed deeply in annoyance and vexation. Of course they took his wands. Well, the holsters at any rate. They couldn't be _opened_ by anyone but him, but they could be removed from his person. He should really look into dealing with that to be honest.

Opening his eyes, the last person he expected to see was _Asha_ , the serpent animagus from the very tribe that caused both him and Newt _so. Much. Trouble._ She was dressed in a full body covering robe that even covered her hair, a veil laid to one side and she had a black eye, fresh, and livid looking.

She was watching him with a solemn expression, and sad eyes, behind her were several men in heavy black robes he recalled having seen more often on _women,_ their veils in place. " _I would say I am glad to see you, Snake Speaker, but I would be lying. Welcome to hell, there is no escape._ "

 _ **000**_

 **DUM DUM DUUUMM!**

 **We've met Sa'id, we've been introduced to the Swooping Evil, to Evie the Erumpet, and Asha has reappeared! Wooo~**

 **Now, first of all, I did a lot of research for Sa'id's backstory, I'm pretty sure I've gotten like... seventy percent of it incorrect, so I apologise for that first of all. Prodding secondhand cultural stereotypes that my Dad has confirmed are true through** _ **working**_ **and living in various countries is one thing, prodding a religion given how fractious the current political climate is towards it is giving me hives of anxiety.**

 **So I apologise if anything is wrong, or someone is upset. That is** **not** **my intention in the slightest and if it helps at all any, Sa'id isn't Muslim anymore. He unfortunately could not continue to follow the teaching of the Quran anymore.**

Due to request the name of Sa'id has been changed. All characters within my fics unless otherwise stated are fictional, all resemblances to peoples living or dead is entirely coincidental. (Harry Thuku however existed)


	21. Chapter 21

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twenty One**

" _Don't be so dramatic_ ," Harry croaked, " _Hell is an island populated by Dementors_ ," he corrected roughly as his brain slopped about in his skull. " _What kind of asshole uses muggle bombs in a fight?_ " he complained pitifully as he flopped weakly in his restraints.

Asha pressed her lips together, " _His name is General Sa'id Ochuka. He is the Sultan of magic here in Africa_."

" _He is a demon_ ," one of the men growled under his breath, and the girl nodded, cringing in her robes.

He truly did get himself into some annoying situations.

" _Not that it isn't – what are you doing here, Asha? Aren't you like... Your tribe was somewhere in Zaire, right?_ " he asked hazily, squinting at her. That black eye looked painful.

Her face twisted in upset for a moment, and she took a breath, " _We were forced to flee. Before you came, our non-magical cousins adopted a white woman. They took her to the Place of All Life to birth her son. It was a healthy babe, the blessings were strong. But... moons after you left, she returned with more men. Men with greedy lights in their eyes. She took them into the Place of All Life, and –_ " Asha took a distinctly wet and shuddering breath, " _– she set the caverns ablaze!_ " she burst, roughly dashing moisture from her scarred cheeks. " _The guardians, the hive, she destroyed them all, and the man with her began to tear at the walls. Then... more men came, and fights broke out. The woman had found diamonds within the Place of All Life._

" _The General found us as we were running, he had heard of the discovery and come to claim the Place of All Life for himself. I – my father – half of our village must now labour within those very mines, the others have been m-married off against our traditions. There is no match! None! Only those the General favours may have a man or a woman of their choosing, whichever they like the look of! They just take, and take, and we have no choice!_ " she hissed, her deep brown eyes gleaming gold and slitting like needles in her distress. She rubbed at her face, trying to calm herself, her shoulders slumped in defeat, " _I tried to kill him,_ " she admitted softly. " _The General. He thought me amusing. Quaint. And decided to keep me._ "

She smiled then, her hands lowering from her face letting him see her golden eyes glowing with vicious, _savage_ satisfaction, " _He believes me broken, too terrified to fight him._ "

Harry felt his eyebrow climb. In all honesty, despite the rather damp impression she left him with from their last unpleasant meeting, Harry sincerely doubted even the likes of Voldemort at his most sadistic would have broken Asha of her spirit. She was not a creature to be tamed so easily, and would only pretend at obedience, lying in wait until the perfect opportunity to strike came along.

" _Hurry up, girl. We don't have all day_ ," one of the others snapped at her in an undertone as they huddled warily.

Asha nodded to them before turning her attention back to Harry, " _I remember the form you took. Cats seldom allow themselves to be owned, Snake Speaker, and you are powerful. Will you join us?_ " she asked solemnly. " _The General is powerful, the people of this land –_ "

" _Someone is coming!_ " one of the women hissed in alarm from where she had been huddled close to the door.

Immediately there was a flurry of activity as robed figures scrambled swiftly from the door to the far wall. Asha stiffened and immediate grabbed at her veil fearfully.

" _Speak of this to no one, Speaker, please! The General will try to break you, do not speak of this, or the –_ "

One of the men grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to a wall cavity that had been pulled back, " _Now girl! Before we are all killed!_ " he hissed before glaring at Harry with blood red eyes behind his veil. " _Breathe of this, and I will boil your blood in your veins, White Man,_ " he promised a moment before shoving Asha into the cavity and following after her.

He watched in mild confusion as the whole thing seemingly melted back into place, as if it had never vanished in the first place. Huh. Neat, someone was an Earth Elemental and had managed to keep it a secret.

Alone for the moment, he took a brief chance to take stock of his surroundings now that he would actually see them without a sea of black robes in the way. It was a plain little wet room, the floor and walls were tiled in deep peacock blues and greens with elaborate golden paisley designs painted into them, his chair was unvarnished wood, his wrists were tied to the arms with rough twine but his feet had been left free. The door was a simple if well made ebony slab with a polished knob of unknown dull-gold metal. It was hard to tell, but Harry would have bet money on the floor being angled, and a drain being sat beneath him, but he couldn't see to be certain.

And then the door opened.

A pair of nondescript soldiers marched in, armed with wands at their waists, and some kind of semi-automatic gun in their hands, they took up positions on either side of the door, and then a man in a much more elaborate uniform stepped in. Harry decided he didn't like him _immediately_.

He sprawled in his chair as belligerently as he could and crossed his legs as if he were in a throne.

"Welcome to my – well, I'm not quite sure what it is, but it looks like a bathroom. Are you the help?" he asked mockingly in English, "I must say I don't think much of your accommodations. Rather drafty if you get my meaning."

There was a moment of silence in the room, and Harry could see the two guards exchange looks of sheer confused _disbelief_ behind the back of the stony faced African in front of him. He was assuming this was the General that Asha was terrified of, he had a definite air of authority to him (and arrogance). About just over six foot four inches, dark skin and neatly trimmed facial hair. He looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties and was about twice as broad as Harry, holding himself with the stiff straight-backed carriage of a trained soldier, his uniform was dark green and neatly pressed, shiny with all the pins and pipettes on his chest and collar. If he wasn't the General/Sultan himself, then he was very high in the command judging by the sheer number of them there were.

And then the man laughed, low and deep, white teeth flashing in dark amusement.

" _Crucio!_ "

You could tell a lot about a Dark Lord by how he cast his torture curses. You could tell what kind of magic they used most often, whether they were prone to torture, whether they enjoyed it, and sometimes you could even get a little bit of a read on their overall intentions through their magic. Many people did not get tortured via the cruciatus more than a tiny handful of times in their lives, Harry possibly held the world record for most torture curses received in a life, and by the most people. It wasn't just the one person that held him under more than once, no, Harry had been cursed by an extensive and exhaustive list of various Dark Lords and their followers. He was more sensitive than most to the magic and intent behind the pain simply because his nerves were somewhat burnt out via repeated exposure.

Sa'id Ochuka was quick and easy with his torture curses. He used them often. The same way someone would use a squirt bottle on a misbehaving cat or dog. It was both a punishment, and a deterrent. One he enjoyed. Sexually.

The spell dropped with the bitter aftertaste of disappointment and intrigue. Harry relaxed in his bindings and took a few deep breaths as he carefully relaxed his muscles.

"Why, why, _why_ is it always sexual? Seriously, can I please go back to people just trying to kill me instead of getting off on this kind of bullshit?!" he finally burst, glaring at the man in front of him, "What the fuck is wrong with you lot, seriously? I never had this kind of trouble back home! What happened to the good old days of Dark Lords just straight up trying to shank you in the spine instead of trying to get their dicks wet, huh?!" he ranted in frustration because it was _seriously_ getting creepy now!

He knew powerful magic users had an odd magnetism to other magic users, it was why Voldemort managed to keep so many of his followers despite being so _bugfuck_ nuts, and torturing the fuck out of them. It was why both he and Dumbledore managed to amass so many followers themselves in both the Order and the DA. It was why Umbridge never amassed much of anything when she made her own bid as a Dark Lord and ended up being betrayed at every turn – she just wasn't strong enough to earn the loyalty of the people she bribed to follow her, they didn't respect her. Then there was Zabini, mother fucker he had been a surprise. He managed to drag all of Voldemort's remaining followers under his umbrella with a combination of blackmail, money, fear, and Dark Arts. With Voldemort as Dark Lord Number One, Zabini had been Dark Lord Number Two, and that frankly obscene Russian Dark Lord that moved in a few years ago that had – was it a thing that just British Dark Lords didn't do? Was the whole sexualised thing _normal_ and that Brits were the odd ones out for not getting stiffies over this sort of thing?

Huh.

The General stared at him for a moment before he smirked, "Do you know... how rare it is to encounter powerful magic users?" he asked rhetorically.

Harry scoffed, "Power isn't everything," he scolded, you could be the most powerful being in the universe, but that meant jackshit if you didn't know how to use it, used it poorly, or just didn't have the ability to use it. Squibs were a fantastic example. Just as powerful as regular witches and wizards, but incapable of using their magic.

His smile was thin, "There is a saying, that when you wish to deal with an English Wizard, you had best bring twelve men. Power is hard to come by in these parts of the world. In every part of the world, except England. The Americans are known for their secrecy magic, the Chinese for their healing, Japan for exorcism, India for elemental invocation, Russia for Dark Arts. England? England is known for power. So what is one more powerful wizard amongst others? A powerful young wizard is nothing more than a threat to an older powerful wizard. One to be brought to heel or destroyed.

"But to _others_?" the General asked, eyebrows raising pointedly as he smirked down at Harry who would have begun to feel uncomfortably hunted, if he weren't increasingly getting annoyed. "Powerful magic users are as rare as pearls in pigswine." He reached out and caught Harry's chin between his fingers, his smirk deepening at the scowl he received, "And just as desired."

Enough of this.

He flung himself backwards, pushing off with his feet, and landed harshly on his back – breaking the wooden chair he was tied to.

The General jumped backwards in surprise, narrowly missing the length of wooden chair-arm that Harry swung at him like a weapon as he rolled backwards again into a crouch and lunged forward.

The two guards jumped forward, bringing their guns to bear. Harry kicked one of them into the wall, he lashed out at the other with one of his wooden weapons, the string that tied his wrists to it turning the broken pieces of furniture into beautiful flails he then used to _bludgeon_ the second guard's skull in.

Normally he wouldn't aim to kill, it would cause a massive international incident if it got out that a Brit was murdering African soldiers, especially in the current times when civil unrest was practically boiling in Africa post World War One. But right now he didn't much care anymore, this General was a Dark Lord, and dealing with them was what Harry had been _made_ for. So deal with him Harry would.

He lunged, grabbing the General by the shoulder and jumped _over_ him when he lashed out with his hands – he obviously hadn't been expecting it if the yell of surprise that Harry promptly cut off was any indication. He pressed the bar of the chair against the man's neck from behind, kicking his knees out, forcing him to kneel on the floor before kneeing him in the spine and wrenching him back. Ruthlessly choking him with the wood between his hands.

Fists struck his thighs, arms, hands, even his head once or twice, trying to free himself, but Harry held on, and held on _tight_. The blows were beginning to get weaker, the General was gagging against his hold, and the skin of his face was _radiating_ heat. Just a little longer, and it would be Dark Lord Number Four.

He didn't see the soldiers rush into the room behind him.

 _ **000**_

His throat was livid purple, and black.

Sa'id grimaced in the mirror as he carefully began to dab bruise balm on the discolouration before a certain someone saw them. He had _severely_ miscalculated what kind of individual he had within his possession. Many of his pets were easily cowed and controlled with the use of torture curses, the cruciatus was the most painful, terrifying, and effective of them all. Even five seconds of the curse was enough to give even the most belligerent of his playthings second, third, and even fourth thoughts about whatever it was they may displease him with. Made them fearful and nervous to even be near him as he was known to flick the curse at them regardless of wrong-doing because the sight of them writhing, their voices raised in pure tones of pain, the complete release of themselves was _beautiful_ to watch, and never failed to quicken his pulse with desire.

The British wizard had not screamed. Had not writhed.

His whole body locked, his jaw welded shut, his eyes clenched. He rode it out without sound or move, and took only a few breaths before opening his eyes and looking him dead in the eye. Fearless. Fierce. He didn't tremble. He didn't cringe. He raised his voice, he jutted his chin out, he glared. Defiant even while tied to a chair within a holding cell.

Not helpless. Nor hopeless.

Sa'id swallowed, grimacing when the bob of his adam's apple made him flinch and close his eyes in pain. The British wizard had broken free of his restraints in seconds, and then _used_ them to kill his soldiers, to nearly kill _him_.

He washed his hands of the sticky balm on his fingertips after making sure he had covered the entirety of the mess on his neck. He believed he now had a fair idea of which of the men he had in his control, the Dark Lord Slayer if he had to wager any money. He would be far harder to break.

But then again, _that was the fun of it_.

Sa'id grinned darkly. He would have to go slow, start psychologically. Break his mind before breaking his body. Torture would do little he decided having seen his reaction to the most potent torture curse in existence. If the cruciatus didn't phase him, there was probably little he could do beyond holding him under for increasing amounts of time. Which was something to bare in mind for later but carried risks of breaking his new toy permanently.

He heard a door slam in his bedchambers, and what was probably a stampede of elephant pass through.

He chuckled and reached for his shirt, dealing with his pet would happen later. For now, he would have him prepared and sent to the male seraglio where he would be prepared for the beginning of his training by the others.

 _ **000**_

Newt could _probably_ force his way into the palace.

He pressed his lips together as he observed the opulent building from a distance on the back of Harry's firebolt (he didn't dare try to mount the MB as, fair Quidditch player he may have been, it would have gotten him killed). If he unleashed Godric, or even Buttercup, onto the streets it would most certainly provide him with a means – but the Statitute would have been destroyed within the hour, and there was always the chance that one of them could be hurt. He couldn't risk it. They were wild animals, and while he was fairly certain they would be just as willing to help him try and rescue Harry as Dougal, Moriarty, and Pickett, he couldn't put them at risk.

Mei chirped sadly from his shirt pocket, her blackberry eyes fixed upon the palace where she could no doubt sense his husband. She was a very young phoenix, Harry had told him, not yet capable of crying healing tears hence why she had not been able to heal him when he was struck by that lightning spell. As such, she would be somewhat slower to grow than a normal phoenix upon rebirthing. While a phoenix in their two-hundreds would have taken perhaps a week to reach a point where it was capable of flame-travel after a burning day, Mei was only in her sixties and would not be able to flame-travel until her second week.

He reached up and gently rubbed a fingertip against her cheek, "We'll get him out, it... might take a while though," he admitted quietly.

As much as he may have wanted to bust in wand blazing... that was a good way to get himself killed, his creatures harvested, and not save Harry in the slightest. He was... he was going to have to be sneaky. As sneaky as he and Leta had been when they escaped Dorea and Theseus to go exploring in the Forbidden Forest in their first and second years. As sneaky as the times he found himself behind enemy lines on the Eastern Front.

Newt swallowed nervously.

First, he needed access to the palace, then he needed to map it, find Harry, and then figure out where his belongings were – because he would have _already_ gotten himself out if he had access to his wands. That was... if those mortar shells hadn't permanently maimed him.

His breathing hitched fearfully, and the firebolt shuddered under him as his hands began to shake a little. He got himself steady and took a deep breath.

There was a very high-chance that Harry could have been crippled or maimed by those mortar shells, yes. But that wasn't going to stop Newt from loving him, nor was it going to stop him from kissing the Gryffindor senseless, or tying him to their bed for the next month where he couldn't get into any trouble. And if... _if_... _if the damage_ was... mental, then – that changed nothing. Newt would still love him, if Harry didn't remember him then Newt would just have to make him fall in love with him all over again, and if his mind was – was damaged then he would _still_ love him, and take care of him.

The fear was enough to chill his blood to ice, and make his stomach clench as if to retch. Carefully, he landed atop the empty roof of a house and sat down, carefully cupping Mei to his chest, and stroking her downy head as he tried to calm his fears.

He had seen mortars cause a lot of pain to people. Men killed immediately, limbs blown off, internal damage, ruptured organs on seemingly unharmed soldiers, and head trauma that caused memories to be lost, personalities to chance, intelligence to regress... He had seen men reduced to drooling vegetables, to children in the bodies of adults, to suddenly being unable to talk or control their body functions, unable to communicate or control themselves or _understand_ anyone around them. And fear made him want to sob at the mere thought of those things happening to Harry, that brain trauma could steal the young man so shortly after they had finally – he pressed the heel of his palm to one of his eyes, pressing hard enough for his vision to flash and his eye to ache and burn. He shouldn't jump to conclusions. Harry was tough for all that he couldn't heal himself, for all that he didn't heal as he should have because his Parsel-healing was broken and

He yelped when Mei bit him.

She chirped reprimandingly up at him from his shirt pocket and puffed herself up. He had asked her not to sing while they were in the city as it could draw attention, but she piped a few short notes, it was enough for him to feel a small swell of trust, reassurance, and determination. His breath stuttered for a moment. So this was how Harry communicated with her? Via empathy impressions? He had always been curious and believed the Gryffindor able to speak bird-tongues much like he did parseltongue, but no, it was in the music? All this time?

Trust, reassurance, and determination.

Harry was fine, they just had to get him out.

Newt nodded and got to his feet. He needed to get inside, and get information. He couldn't do that as a white man just _waltzing_ in through the front door but... he could probably do so as...

Harry was never going to let him live this down if he ever found out.

 _ **000**_

Aching head.

Dry mouth, tacky taste of -

Tingling in the fingertips.

Yeah, he got stunned.

And he wasn't in that little bathroom anymore either. He was lying on something silky and warm, and he himself was significantly uncomfortable. Discounting the usual headache, bad taste, and tingly feeling that came from not only cruciatus exposure but also from a stunner to the back of the head, his back felt like one big bruise from where he used it to break that chair, there was something around his waist and between his legs like the world's most uncomfortable adult nappy, and both his wrists and ankles were sweaty, itchy, and heavy. There was something pinching at the back of his neck as well, heavy, and – had that asshole put a motherfucking _collar_ on him?

Green eyes snapped open and Harry sat up, making several people squawk in alarm and jerk away from him.

Heavy silver bracelets inlaid with runes and gems were on both his wrists and his ankles. Old enchanter style handcuffs. Harry had only ever seen these in a magical museum before. They needed only for the password to be spoken before they would snap to their twin. At any point, someone would say that word, and both of Harry's hands would be locked together, the same with his feet.

His hands immediately went to his neck and he swore, yes, that was a collar too. He wouldn't be able to tell what kind until he saw it, but he was willing to get it was something of a twin to the others, and enchanted so that he couldn't leave a certain area without a certain passphrase having been spoken. _Bastard_. There would be no breaking out until someone came to _let_ him out, then he would likely have to take his chances and fight his way out. In a place where he hadn't the faintest idea of the floor plan, how many people there were, or where his wands were. And yes, he may have _some_ wandless magic, but he wanted to keep it secret in case of emergencies. Like the Earth Elemental had.

Then he registered what he was wearing around his waist.

Ignoring the shimmery semi-seethrough clothing, he gaped in abject horror at the metal monstrosity that was quite literally _padlocked_ to his junk.

"Is that a fucking _CHASTITY BELT_?!"

 _ **0000**_

 **Chapter done.**

 **Yeah, Sa'id's throwing in humiliation onto his lovely shit bed of mental and emotional torment to try and break Harry down. You can thank Mad Max Fury Road for the chastity belt idea though. Given how Sa'id has both males and females in his harem, I figured he would want to make sure that no hanky-panky went on without his say so or approval, hence why everyone save the eunuchs have to wear one.**

 **Someone mentioned Slave Leia outfits in the comments on the last chapter, uhh, it isn't** **quite** **the same, but whatever, you can picture what you'd like in the meanwhile. I haven't even gotten around to thinking about whatever it is that Harry's wearing beyond humiliating and semi-seethrough. XDD;;**

Due to request the name of Sa'id has been changed. All characters within my fics unless otherwise stated are fictional, all resemblances to peoples living or dead is entirely coincidental.


	22. Chapter 22

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twenty Two**

Harry was getting mightily fucking fed up with how everyone and their fucking mothers outside of England seemed to be so fucking sex obsessed, the dirty fuckers! Fuck. And another fuck for flavour because _fuck_.

The Gryffindor hissed at the young man that tried to approach, and was only mildly appeased when he quickly skittered away once more. After waking up and taking stock of his new threads and... _accessories_ , Harry had retreated to a more defensible position within the room in order to better examine his cuffs. But _annoyingly_ there were no keyholes, no catches, clasps, or latches to try and break, pick, jiggle, or snap. It was a smooth single piece of metal that had been enchanted to sit snugly to his skin, neither big enough to be slipped free with the aid of oil, nor tight enough to cut off his circulation or even bruise.

He gave thought to apparating, he was good enough that he could do a 'controlled splinch', and leave just the cuffs behind (his favourite party trick during auror training had been to apparate across the room and leave his clothing behind, that one always went down well, though he had to use a disclaimer after the first few times to stop others from trying it too and needing an emergency visit from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, and a night or three in St Mungos depending on the severity of the splinch). But the wards around the palace was too firmly anchored and well placed, he could potentially _punch_ through them, he had the strength for it (nothing short of Hogwarts wards could stop him these days in all honesty), but he couldn't do it safely. It'd be like trying to break through a wall by running at it headfirst, magically speaking, he may very well crack his skull open, concuss himself, or need immediate medical attention.

It was _tempting_ though.

Harry seethed quietly in his corner, watching the other men awkwardly try to do their own thing while trying not to get too close to what had somehow unspokenly become his territory. The atmosphere in the area had become choking with tension as he observed the downtrodden, half-beaten men.

Tear the wards down completely to give these men (and likely the women in another separate area) their opportunity to escape, if the collapsing wards didn't backlash and knock everyone on site unconscious completely. Or worse if they were muggles, or young children, or elderly, or very ill.

Harry growled unhappily. Okay, that plan was a no-go.

He could just straight up stab the man. That took most magic users by surprise. After all, who brings a knife to a wand fight?

Zabini never actually saw what Harry killed him with.

His mother would never use that cutlery set again once Harry had finished inserting one of her very fine steak knives into her son's skull.

 _ **000**_

Thank Merlin for burkas.

Newt wet his lips nervously as he clutched his suitcase under the abaya covering he also wore. He figured the more layers and coverings he wore, the safer he was. It _seemed_ to be working. No one was looking too closely at him as he shuffled through the throngs of people towards the palace, he kept his head bowed as he marched towards the open gates and the guards flanking them. He was fairly sure his heart lodged itself in his throat as one of them looked over to him suspiciously, he couldn't stop himself from hunching up and shifting his hand ready to draw his wand – but the guard looked away dismissively. And Newt carried on, unmolested.

He was in.

 _ **000**_

Very few were allowed within the bowers of the General's harems if they were not one of his pets.

Usually it was a vast honour, as it afforded them the favour of choosing some entertainment of their own, and should the General bore of his playthings, allow them to take those unwanted into their own households. It was a great honour.

But one that could _sometimes_ be more trouble than it was worth.

The two men escorting Harry from the mens' seraglio would find that out the hard way – when they woke up.

Harry tested his wrists. They had originally fastened the cuffs behind his back, but he had simply pulled them over his knees in a jump, and then used them to bludgeon the men into unconsciousness. Not even a crack or a scuff. They were made of sterner stuff than his captors annoyingly. The Gryffindor puffed a few hairs from his face before quickly patting the two down –

 _Lucky!_

He snatched up the two wands, quickly checking them for compatibility. Both were useless though, unable to even muster up a handful of bare sparks to be used. He snapped the pair of them over his knee and huffed in annoyance. Dragon Heart-string and some kind of black hair. Annoying but not the end of the world. Silently, Harry sped through the airy corridor, using a shard of mirror that he broke within the harem to peer around corners. The fancy door with the two armed guards outside seemed like a likely candidate for the one he needed, specially with the benches set opposite, the big leafy plant, and the fancy paintings. Definitely office material.

He took a deep breath, and clasped a hand over his mouth and nose. Then he reached out with his magic – and sucked all of the air out of the corridor.

Immediately the men started gagging, unable to make a sound in the vacuum that Harry had just created.

Silently he made his way around the corner, the two men were wheezing, their eyes practically swelling in their skulls, pink and bloody, as they soundlessly opened and closed their mouths. Harry had his own eyes squeezed shut in order to avoid such a discomfort but he could still feel it, and then he let the air back.

He had to catch the guards before they hit the ground loudly enough to alert anyone within the office, and then sit down next to them because _fuck_. That... Wandless magic was exhausting. Especially elemental manipulation. Vacuuming an area was hard, well, without inflicting the negative effects on himself that was. He could quite easily vacuum a corridor, the problem was that it would probably kill him at the same time, or give him the bends like muggle divers often would get if they descended, or ascended, from differing pressure zones without giving their bodies a chance to adapt. An oxygen high wizard capable of mass amounts of property damage also sounded like an exceptionally bad idea.

He took a moment. Just to catch his breath and settle the wobbling of his limbs.

Neither of them had wands. They were muggles, and he wouldn't be able to do anything like that for a while, he could already feel the returning creep of his migraine from before. Fingers crossed no one else was in that office with the General.

In fact...

Harry lay flat on his stomach, and with his little mirror shard, he peered through the crack at the bottom of the door, looking for feet.

It was a fairly open room, with two doors, and a set of large patio door-windows if the curtain drapes trailing on the stone were any indication. He could see familiar polished shoes sat at a desk, facing away from him.

There were no other visible feet within the room.

Harry smirked wolfishly as he pushed himself upright, and then hauled the soldiers to one side. He put one on the bench just outside the office, making it look like he'd sat down and fallen asleep, the other he propped up in a corner on his feet. Hopefully he would look as though he were at enough of an attention that no one would get suspicious. Harry couldn't do much more magic, his headache was back and better than ever, thumping behind his eyes like Hagrid's friendly back pats that were liable to send you faceplanting into your soup-bowl sized cups of tea.

Silently, he opened the door, and crept in.

The General was indeed facing away from him, sat at a handsome polished black desk in a high-backed wooden chair, the walls decorated with many fine pieces of African art, paintings, carvings, the walls done in shades of gold and red, beautiful patterns trimming the walls at waist height. Heavy dark green drapes pulled open in front of wide-open patio doors leading out into a fragrant garden populated by various creatures, the biggest of which was the erumpet that he and Newt had seen abducted not too long ago.

Harry took all this in as he slipped up behind the General who was busily filling paperwork out, reading and signing this and that, overlooking pictures and photographs and drawings. Telegrams and owl post, manilla folders, paperclipped bundles of loose pages, something that was written on animal skin – his desk was organised chaos in practice.

He still hadn't been noticed.

Harry raised the mirror shard. One end of it was wrapped in a strip of fabric from his ridiculous get up, the other came to a wicked, violent point – one that flashed white as he plunged it towards the General's unprotected neck.

" _Daddy!_ "

And froze, an inch from skin.

Harry jerked backwards in a panic and whirled around, hiding the shard behind his back as a _fucking four year old boy_ ran into the room through the door that Harry had stupidly left open behind him, a fingerpainting held proudly aloft in his chubby little fingers, and a wide white smile on round little cheeks.

He heard a clatter behind him, and a sharp inhale.

The General had no doubt seen the large mirror knife in Harry's hand, hidden poorly behind his back, as the little boy eagerly bounded over to – to the General?

" _Daddy! Look what I did!_ " he burst excitedly as he presented the paper to his father, Harry taking another step back with the knife hidden behind him, feeling a sick twisting in the pit of his stomach.

He watched as the African wizard knelt in front of the child, letting the little body crowd between his legs and lean against his side and show him the picture, babbling cheerfully about how this green bit here was a tree, and the red one was the errpet outside, and the brown one there was Daddy with the littler yellow one being him, and they were having a picnic. All the while his father nodded, smiling gently as he praised his son for his talent, and told him how he would cherish it like all the others before opening one of his desk draws and adding it to a goddamn _pile_ of finger paintings, some covered in sand and sea-shells, and others with little bits of fur, feather, and colourful stones glued to it.

Harry felt sick.

He couldn't kill – Merlin fucking damn it. He – the kid – Harry couldn't kill someone's father. He just _couldn't_.

He knew what it was like to go without a parent! And this bastard, this creepy fucking deviant asshole clearly loved his son. By Circe's left tit, he kept a desk draw of fucking macaroni art and fingerpaintings! He wasn't going to kill the man in front of his child. He... didn't think he could kill the man at all.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Fuck.

 _ **000**_

"You didn't take the shot," Sa'id observed once his son had raced off, back to his lessons, and his toy trucks. His new pet watched him go, the wicked silvery mirror shard behind his back, easily visible to Sa'id, but hidden from the eyes of his child.

"I'm not going to kill someone's dad in front of them. I know _that_ pain far too well," the young man answered flatly, and then he turned and pitched the blade at one of the wooden sculptures. It sank several inches into the wooden huntsman, through his thin polished throat. Green eyes canted upwards to his face, "But make no mistake. I'll find another way of dealing with you. One that isn't going to leave a kid traumatised."

Sa'id _laughed_.

It was an ugly sound.

Of all the stupid 'honourable' _bullshit –_ he had _often_ used children against their parents, and here this _fool_ – he laughed long and hard, and cruelly. Perhaps he should invite his new pet to watch the punishment of those soldiers who had been unable to do their jobs and guard his office properly? The deaths of three generations for dereliction of duty, and he knew one of those men had children, the other had a sister with children and a newborn babe.

He had the measure of this man now. How delightful.

He could not be broken through violence onto himself, but he _could_ be broken by violence onto others. How amusing.

Harry shook his head in disgust. Why did they always laugh when he told them that?

 _ **000**_

Somehow, Newt managed to stumble across the Swooping Evil greenhouses.

The thickly jungled hot-house looked so much like Green House Three back at Hogwarts, he had ducked in there completely on reflex when he heard another patrol coming around the corner – he knew this area was off-limits to 'women' having had to stun a gentleman previously. He didn't want to test his luck with a second encounter and more men.

Which brought him to the painfully humid enclosure, filled with leafy green plants and a single walk-way leading to a gnarled dark wood tree, and two green chrysalis-like pods. Newt tilted his head as he observed them. It... certainly _looked_ similar to how the alcoholic old lady described.

The doors rattled, and Newt just about jumped clean out of his stolen burka before he threw himself under several leafy bushes as the glass doors opened.

He watched as a pair of soldiers came in, the two chrysalis shuddered, and then one promptly burst open, lunging into the air – a pair of stunners caught it in the belly, and the creature dropped like a stone. Newt had to grit his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache as he saw one of the men toe the fallen creature with a boot, the other roughly grabbed the other chrysalis pod and shoved it into a small sack before barking something in Swahili to his companion. The soldier kept an eye on the fallen creature as he retreated from the greenhouse.

Newt waited a few moments, and then crawled out from the bushes, moving swiftly to the creature's side and lifting it gently into his lap. He clawed roughly at his veil, removing it impatiently so he could get a better look at the poor thing.

It was definitely the old lady's Swooping Evil. And it was horribly bruised.

Dark shadows patterned its leafy-green armour, the vivid china blue of its butterfly like wings were covered in livid purple finger-marks, and a very fresh boot print. He was no expert, but he was getting the distinct impression that the creature was also dehydrated to a degree.

"Don't worry, I'll fix you up right as rain," he promised as he opened up his suitcase and summoned a small jar of Harry's bruise-balm to his hand. He was as gentle as he could be while making sure to cover as much of the damage as he could, a few splints in order to make sure it kept its wings outstretched until the balm could finish its job, and then he took it into his shed. He transfigured a large cushion for it to lounge on, and set up a water-bowl and a second bowl that he copied a few old memories into. Judging by what the old woman told him about the creature's habits of eating bad memories, Newt guessed that it was something a little like a Dementor in its feeding habits. However in the opposite form. While a Dementor fed on happy emotions, leaving only the bad behind, this creature seemed to feed on bad _memories_ , and leave only the pleasant. With that in mind, Newt made sure to only copy memories, not remove them (it was a bad idea to remove memories, it removed progress, and caused disassociation and emotional repression). Memories of the war, the whole Leta situation in his final year, his father's illness and funeral only a few years after his leaving Hogwarts, the loneliness and bullying from Hogwarts, every injured creature he found, _Harry_ , Merlin, that miserable night in China when he tried to – Newt had to take a breath and lower his wand because the _temptation_ to just take that memory wholesale and remove it into the bowl was...

And that was bad.

He may hate that memory, but he needed it. Because that was the turning point for him and for Harry. It was their break-point and it was _important_.

He made copies, and put them in the bowl for when the Evil would wake, and then he asked Mei to keep an eye on it before fleeing from the suitcase. Fleeing his own desires and temptations, and the memories of what was perhaps the worst night of his life, the most _terrifying_.

Outside, he took a moment to breathe. Okay.

He still had a few phials of his dirty truth serum, and... one confundus would have someone drawing a map for him. So he only needed a little while longer in here, and another soldier. Actually... this was the _perfect_ place to set himself up in the interim. Only one access point, the inside hidden from the outside, and filled with cover. It looked like very few people came in as well, save for those two guards – and he needed them for his plan.

Newt pulled off his abaya, and folded it up on top of his suitcase before going to collect the discarded burka. He would need them to make his escape later once he had Harry squared away within his suitcase.

 _ **000**_

When the guards returned Harry to the mens' section of the harem, the first thing that happened was a man dressed in red punching him in the face.

Harry cursed, staggering back, " _The FUCK was that for?_ " he demanded, glaring at the man in front of him.

" _The four guards you knocked unconscious today will be executed in three days, along with their parents, their siblings, their sibling's children, and their own children,_ " Asha's voice explained, Harry squinted at her in confusion. There were a lot more people in here tonight, men and women, and even a few guards. And no one was looking at him with a particularly friendly expression. " _The price for dereliction of duty is the execution of three generations of your family._ "

His mind raced.

" _In three days? You can guarantee three days?_ " he asked shortly, chewing his lower lip.

Asha nodded, " _It is always three days, to ensure that all family members are rounded up, and to make the soldiers sit in their grief and suffer,_ " she explained darkly before narrowing her eyes at him, " _What are you thinking?_ "

" _About dealing with your General before then. My only problem is the child,_ " he admitted with a grimace.

" _I will kill-_ " the man that punched him began to offer – Harry punched him in the throat.

The man dropped, gagging and wheezing even as several people around them jumped and startled, exclaiming in shock at the incident. Harry kicked him in the side for good measure.

" _Touch the kid and you will beg for death before I'm through with you,_ " he spat darkly.

Asha made a low sound of realisation, " _Brother said you mentioned a son. You have a child of your own. Of course, you would not want harm visited onto any, yours or otherwise,_ " she theorised out loud for the rest of the room's benefit.

" _Correct. Not only that, but children remember more than you realise. I was not yet a year and a half when my parents were murdered but I still_ _remember_ _it. I do not orphan children if I can help it,_ " Harry declared, folding his arms challengingly, jutting his chin out defiantly to the rest of the room. Nothing was going to make him shift on this. Not even if he encountered Bellatrix Lestrange as a four year old could he muster the ability to even raise a hand to her in hatred, she would have been an innocent little kid, not the murdering sociopath that killed his godfather.

" _So, we must remove the child before you can deal with the General?_ " one of the men asked uncertainly.

Harry nodded, " _Yes. After that, I can probably tear down the wards on this whole property in order to let you escape._ "

" _What of our family who have been taken away already?_ " one girl burst out.

The Gryffindor shook his head, " _I wouldn't even know where to begin helping you on that. I can get access to the General's office, see if he kept any paper records. Brew enough truth serum to drown a small country if I can find my husband for the parts, but I was never the best investigator when it came to human trafficking._ " He left that to Susan Bones and her team who were far better at the more time-sensitive investigative aspects of the auror department. Ask him to solve a fifty year old cold case and he would have it done much faster than anyone would have ever thought possible, throw him in a warzone and tell him to win and he'd had you a victory along with the knuckle-sandwich that had your name on it.

A few of the women in the back were whispering, and then one stepped forward, " _I know William's mother,_ " she admitted nervously, clutching at her robes as all eyes turned to her. " _She... she is still in the womens' harem. Though she is kept separate, specifically to care for him and the other two pregnant girls._ "

Harry stared at her, it hadn't occurred to him that –

He took a deep breath, " _Can you bring her here? I think... I may have an idea for how to make this happen._ "

And he would most _definitely_ be killing the General depending on the answers he received.

 _ **0000**_

 **Dun dun dun~**

 **Newt gets hold of his Swooping Evil, Harry shows his mettle and the lines in the sand that he has along with a few abilities he's been keeping on the backburner for emergencies.**

 **Harry's primary rules are as follows:**

He doesn't kill kids. He doesn't kill people with kids. He doesn't kill in _front_ of kids.

Long story short, orphaning kids = bad, because = Voldemort and Harry = orphanages = abuse = Dark Lord or Obscurial. More on these thought processes later on.

 _Special thanks to Carnivorous Muffin for their extra long review on ffnet's chapter 18, you gave me some good things to chew on that helped me rework some of the later plotpoints to something that hopefully works a bit better._

Due to request the name of Sa'id has been changed. All characters within my fics unless otherwise stated are fictional, all resemblances to peoples living or dead is entirely coincidental.


	23. Chapter 23

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twenty Three**

Lakisha was a middle-aged African woman, tired, and drawn, a little overweight, and wore heavy robes with beautiful embroidery across her generous curves. She was also the General's first legitimate wife before he took power, mother to his son, and the 'carer' of the pregnant girls within the harem, it was her responsibility to ensure the children they carried were well taken care of.

There was also no one in the palace that hated Sa'id Ochuka more than her.

Asha sent one of the women to fetch her, and when she arrived, Harry had retreated back to his corner with the so called 'heads' of the resistance to hash out a plan. Harry honestly hadn't known what he had walked face first into, but apparently Asha had recognised his description when one of the men told her of their newest arrival, and how pleased the General was by his capture. Even going so far as to fit him with the cuffs, which apparently no one else had been given as they weren't considered enough of an escape risk. It had been her to demand he be brought into their private rebellion, and it was private. No one outside the palace would resist the General, no one outside the palace could _remember_ any of the cruelties or atrocities he committed. A few of them had managed to escape, one even got as far as Egypt before word reached the Ministries there of the General's mentally unwell third wife running away, and how concerned he was for her, if she didn't return then her condition would deteriorate – she was unceremoniously shipped back to Sa'id's grasp, her pleas and explanations falling on deaf disbelieving ears. And if someone did think to try and investigate, there was no evidence, and no one outside the palace could remember.

Harry found it hard to believe the man could obliviate an entire city, let alone a country, of his atrocities, but apparently it was happening. That in mind, it became only all too apparent that they were in this revolution alone. And they could expect hostile resistance from just about everyone.

Harry was getting flashbacks to the Second Rise.

First up, they needed to separate the child, William, from his father. Lakisha rarely saw him these days, only when the General was away on business was her son returned to her, or rather, she was taken from the harem under guard and returned to him. The General would not risk putting his son near the people that hated him most. The problem there was that until Harry was ' _broken_ ', Sa'id would not be leaving the palace for anything short of an attack or rebellion. There was too much risk of the Gryffindor getting loose and destroying everything he had fought so hard for. And Harry could not pretend to be broken if his life depended on it, he had been conditioned too much and too hard to deal with Dark Lords in combat to allow his neck to bend even an inch when confronting them. He was too _afraid_ to bend even the littlest of bits, because it was just so _easy_ to fall, to fold, to become just like them. And with his power, his bloodlines, his knowledge, and abilities...

He would be more feared than Grindelwald.

The thought was enough to chill Harry to the bone, so any plans that involved him trying to trick Sa'id into leaving the palace were nixed. He may be able to act well enough to fool everyone into thinking he was someone else entirely, but not against a Dark Lord. He couldn't. When he confronted them, it was like a switch flipped in his head, and he could not, _would not_ , back down. It was most definitely going to get him killed one day, but he was prepared for that.

Eventually, they managed to get some working bones of a plan between them. They didn't bother with detail, there were too many variables to bother with, and it carried the very real possibility of going horribly wrong.

First, Harry needed _out_ of the mens' seraglio. That could be achieved easily enough by faking illness, he was the newest arrival, he could have contracted something while outside and the stress of the current situation meant it was no longer benign and easily ignored. Harry could ramp his magic up internally to mimic the effects of severe illness, cold sweat, fever, violent shaking, swollen glands, etc.

Once Harry was out, they could move onto phase two, which was getting everyone else out – the guards they had on the inside would be useful for that. They would raise a discreet alarm that Harry had gone missing, but was too ill to escape under his own power, which meant someone had fucked up, so they needed to deal with the situation as quietly as possible so the General never found out. That would get the guards to haul ass away from the harems, and for their inside guys to unlock the doors.

While this happened, Harry would arrange for a distraction. A _**big**_ one.

Get the whole palace moving like a kicked over ant-hill while the escapees made their move. It would get the General away from his son, the boy would be placed under guard, their inside men or not, either way it would be two maximum and easily dealt with. Non-combatants and the pregnant women would be with the Earth Elemental and whatever men opted to join him, they would go and hide in the back gardens where they would wait and hide until Harry tore the wards down.

Lakisha would go with Asha to get William while Harry went for the General.

Knowing that the kid's mother would get him out, keep him safe, had effectively culled a great deal of Harry's hesitance in dealing with Sa'id in a more lethal manner. He needn't worry about the fate of the child now, or what he could become. Lakisha was magical, as was Asha, they wouldn't allow for the child to be harmed (if Harry were reading the vibes right, little William would walk away from this cluster fuck down one dad, but up two mums).

Their plan cemented as much as they were willing (with back-ups just in case), Harry got started, and the women quickly returned to their harem while the men began to gather cold water, herbs, anything they could think of to make it look like Harry had fallen ill much earlier and they had been trying to tend to him before giving in and calling the guards.

What he was doing was... _dangerous_.

More so for him than any of the others. It was far to reminiscent of... of how he broke his healing ability. Turning his magic inward until it _hurt_ , until it _burned_.

The pain was a familiar, old, unwelcome friend.

And the world passed into a wispy dark haze.

 _ **000**_

Newt was in the middle of preparing various attack potions when the kneazles started acting strangely. Harry had theorised a vast number of 'incorrectly' brewed potions he had seen a classmate perform could have substancial combat applications in new and interesting ways, the difficulty was to bottle them up before they destroyed the cauldron they were being brewed in. The Hufflepuff was no master at potions, but Harry had a very easy and detailed way of writing instructions, complete with explanations as to _why_ there had to be a certain number of petals, and stirs of the cauldron, for the 'botched' potion to become effective. And with Newt's reflexes and eye for detail that came with working with very quick and often unpredictable creatures, he was more than up to the task of bottling the combat potions his husband had been refining (he only worked out of the half-finished 'finalised' copy of his notes – these were the ones that had the most developed and researched potions listed inside, and thus were the safest to attempt).

Kermit had started hissing at the ceiling not long after he had bottled the last of his 'ice flower' potion. Miss Piggy was stood beside him, her tail lashing from side to side, her patchy fur beginning to bristle.

Newt shifted from where he had been washing the cauldron out before some enterprising little critter decided it liked the smell and took a potentially fatal mouthful. That was not the reaction of a creature feeling threatened, nor one doing the threatening. Something was going on outside.

Newt shoved the half-clean cauldron into a cupboard and spelled it shut before grabbing the potion phials and stowing them in his blue coat (he really was grateful that Harry sewed a bunch of extra pockets inside, his own sewing, while passable, still left a lot to be desired).

Surfacing from the suitcase, he crept to the doorway of the greenhouse. It didn't take long to figure out what was going on.

The General's newest plaything (and Merlin did his blood boil to hear Harry referred to like that) had taken ill, and then vanished while being transported to the medical wing, his guards brutally slaughtered in the corridor. He was too sick to escape on his own, someone had taken him, and now they had to find him before the General found out they had allowed someone to sneak into the grounds.

Someone had stolen Harry.

Harry was _sick_.

Newt threw himself down into the suitcase, fear a cold stone in his stomach. He had never known Harry to become unwell, one of the Healers in China has stated that even though his healing talent was broken, the Gryffindor should still be immune to most if not all forms of illness. That had proven true for the most part. With the exception of his sea-sickness, Newt had never even seen Harry suffer from the squits – and even _he'd_ had an upset stomach after a few of the more questionable local dishes they'd eaten while travelling.

If Harry was unwell, too unwell to have escaped under his own power, then he must have been _very_ unwell indeed.

 **What had these people done to him?**

"Kermit, I need you to help me, can you do that?" he asked, snatching the one eyed tom up, bringing him up to eye level desperately. "I need you to find Harry for me, can you do that?"

The kneazle stared at him for a moment, and then meowed loudly at him, headbutting his chin.

It was probably the closest thing to a yes he was going to get.

Setting Kermit down outside the suitcase, he floundered for a moment on whether or not to hide it, or take it with him. He might have to leave quickly with Harry in tow, or he might not be able to fall back to the greenhouse. No, he would have to take it with him, but it would be hell in a handbasket to carry it in his off-hand – he transfigured some of the near-by plants into straps, like he had seen Harry do before, in order to affix the suitcase to his back. He could only hope it wouldn't get struck by stray spell-fire.

Then the explosions on the otherside of the building started.

 _ **000**_

Harry was only half aware that he was being moved, but it was enough that he began to unfold his magic, carefully _carefully_ leeching it away from his extremities and turning it away. He couldn't do this too quickly, or too roughly, or he threatened to tear himself apart – and he no longer had the ability to put himself back together again. Spirits, he was getting too old for this. He was going to be aching for _weeks_ after this.

Like a muscle twanging, he felt the exact moment he reached the safe zone, and flung his magic out forcefully, a blast of air neatly bisecting everyone horizontally at waist height.

He cut three men in half.

And then cut their heads off before they could scream.

He had warned the rebellion that coming out of his fever would be dangerous, and that he wouldn't be able to tell friend from foe, so he knew all the people around him were loyalists, or at the very least working for the General. So he felt nothing but annoyance at the immediate smell of sewage and blood as he levered himself up from the stretcher they dropped the moment he slaughtered them (he was still in that ridiculous harem get up – first order of business, get Newt to tear it off later). The child he used to be, fresh from Dumbledore's skirts on the back of Voldemort's defeat, would have been horrified by his casual disregard for life. His mentor would have deemed him dangerous, someone to be watched, to be weighed, to be _judged_. Harry was what he had been created to be. As always. A weapon against the Dark Lord. It didn't matter which, or whom, or where. He was the final solution. And he was batting three for three in less than ten years of active conflict.

Harry had made his lines in the sand.

And he made them in blood, and bodies.

He did not mourn, nor care, for those who chose to side with murder, rape, torture, and slavery. He left the bodies where they fell, picking through the congealing blood and faeces so as not to leave footprints in his wake, and then fled.

Sheer silks barely a whisper on the air behind him, his barefeet moved soundlessly upon stone, wood, and carpet as he sped down corridors, climbed decorations to hang from the ceiling, support beams, and decorative mouldings. He could tell the exact moment their inside men started spreading the word about his 'abduction', suddenly the halls were crawling with soldiers and whispers, hissing frightened men. Being inside was no longer advisable. No matter. He was sure he could generate a distraction easily enough from the outside, surely.

Climbing out of a window, he drifted across the roof-tiles, sticking to the deep shadows until he came to the semi-familiar garden outside the General's office, and the female erumpet dozing within.

Newt would probably disapprove of his using a creature's natural abilities to his advantage, or rather, distressing one enough to use them. But Harry was somewhat out of options at this point in time.

He made a mental note to ply the herbivore with the best leafy greens he could find as an apology as he drew his magic up, shifting across the rooftops to the perfect position. Erumpet hide was tough, and somewhat magic proof. But Harry had what was arguably one of the sharpest weapons in the world, a blade of wind could cut through even metal if one had enough control for it. Harry did not. But his intention was to hurt one of her back legs, not remove it.

The concentrated blast of wind blades shredded the flesh of her hind-leg, and she _screamed_.

Shocked awake, the herbivore immediately panicked, and began to thrash. Bolting away from whatever it was behind her that caused harm, she crashed into one of the wooden awnings and immediately began to use her horn to great effect – and explode her way to freedom.

The alarms went up.

And Harry sat back, his attention on the room across the garden, the General's office. Waiting for the exact moment the man went in.

He didn't have to wait long.

He could hear the furious shouting, saw the light turn on, the door slam open, and the General storming in absolutely livid as he crossed out into the garden.

Harry kept low.

Creeping across the roof top as the man gritted his teeth, observing the destruction the erumpet was weaving in her panicked rage. He soon started shouting, commanding and directing his men into containing her. Gesturing violently with both hand and wand, flicking the occasional stinging hex at someone who didn't move fast enough with a promise to use something stronger later if they didn't _do as he told them now, right now!_

Harry landed behind some bushes behind him, not even the rustle of silk to give him away as he crouched, and slipped over.

Sa'id's back was turned.

He had a wand in his hand.

There were no soldiers behind him, no soldiers behind Harry, and no one in the office to their left.

He had a clear line of sight.

But no weapon beyond himself.

Gathering the wind would take too long.

Green eyes narrowed, and bled silvery-white.

He smiled, teeth too long to be human.

And then he lunged.

Sa'id had a split second, some manner of sixth sense told him to turn, that there was danger behind him.

He whirled around and saw the British man in his office, his wand raised -

And then teeth clamped down on his throat.

Harry squinted his eyes against the spurt of blood up his cheek, pressing down harder, before _tearing his head away_.

He ripped General Sa'id Ochuka's throat out with his teeth.

He spat the cartilage, tendons, and veins to one side, blood dripping from his chin and mouth as he took a staggered step backwards, the General gurgling in horror, his eyes bulging white and luminous in the blaze from the office behind him as he dropped backwards, a hand coming up to his spurting throat in disbelief.

Harry spat again, wiping his mouth.

"Harry?"

He turned, and felt his blood turn to ice as he saw _Newt_ behind him, stood in the middle of Sa'id's office, suitcase strapped to his back, wand in hand, fear written across his face as he stared at him.

No, please no.

He was never supposed to _see_ – this side of him...

Newt raised his wand, his face stricken, and it felt like his heart was _cracking_ –

The blasting curse flashed past his ear, and Harry jerked to the side, unable to stop himself as he turned –

What remained of Sa'id's head splashed across the grass, his body hitting the ground with chilling finality as the hand he had clamped over his gushing throat went lax.

Harry's breath shuddered in his throat when he saw the knife in the General's other hand.

"Harry, are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he? The guards said you were ill, what's wrong?" The Gryffindor blinked, jerking a little when he realised Newt was there, _right there_ , fussing. Running his hands down his arms, touching his face, smearing blood from his cheeks onto his hands.

His mouth opened, and closed, unable to get the words out. Unsure of what to even say.

"What – are you doing here?" he found himself asking instead of anything else. Because... no one had come for him before. It was always... _He_ was always the one to go after _them_. No one came for him, _no one_. Not even Ron 'never left a man behind' Weasley. Ron was _famous_ in the auror department for never leaving a man unaccounted for, never letting a man go without backup, without a rescue. Even _Ron_ never –

Newt kissed his forehead.

"I told you, Harry, it doesn't matter where you go, I'll always come looking for you." Newt smiled wryly as he drew away, cupping his cheeks, "Hufflepuffs are loyal to a fault, so I'm sorry to say you're stuck with me."

 _ **0000**_

 **Boom. Harry tearing Sa'id's throat out with his teeth has been planned since the** **start** **of the China arc.**

 **I start new hours at work tomorrow, pot washing on top of a bunch of otherstuff that I already do (my hands are already hurting at the thought of all the water I'm going to be exposed to XDD;; fingers crossed they bought the washing up liquid I'm** **not** **allergic to this time). So I should hopefully have more time for writing and such.**

 **Yeah, I lost one of my part-time jobs. I'm still on the books, so I'll be covering sickness and holiday for the other cleaners. But my work hours have gone from about 48/50 a week, to between 25-30 hours a week. I'm going to miss the** _ **money**_ **. But I'm also going to love the fact that I now actually have time to do shit, like have a social life, be able to book the dentist, opticians, and doctors, without having to take holiday for it. And my feet might actually recover enough to not cause me so much goddamn pain in the mornings.**

Due to request the name of Sa'id has been changed. All characters within my fics unless otherwise stated are fictional, all resemblances to peoples living or dead is entirely coincidental.


	24. Chapter 24

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twenty Four**

Predatory animagus forms were rare.

Most forms were common small creatures that blended in with the witch or wizard's native home environment, something innocuous, discreet, something that could be passed off or ignored by the muggles around them. Housecats, dogs, rats, various insects, farm animals even. As with a lot of magic, it was developed as a defence against persecution, a way of hiding themselves. The native American mages were particularly skilled at such things, in fact, they could not be considered adults until they had obtained their 'spirit' animal.

Forms that came from another country, uncommon animals, endangered animals, Newt had never heard of them as an animagus form. It just... didn't happen. He only knew of a few animagi, but they were all common creatures, easily dismissed minor predators if they were predators at all. The most exotic he had heard of was a falcon animagus form. Supposedly Godric Gryffindor was a lion, the only one known in their history, or legend, if Newt remembered rightly.

What did that say for Harry when he was a British man with a Snow Leopard animagus form?

Gone were the green eyes he had come to treasure, in their place were silvery blue-white orbs, too large to be human, framed in black, with small round pupils contracted to pinpricks in horror. His husband's face was slick with blood, his skin shades paler than normal with the white of the hair that now dusted his skin, dark spots decorating his face in grey-black smudges, a circlet above his eyebrows, and following the line of his cheekbones up into his hair which had turned to white at the roots. Rosettes patterned his shoulders and back, visible through the sheer-fabric of his ridiculous get up, splotching across his thighs and rump; his chest, stomach, and inner thighs clear of markings entirely, but splattered and slopped with blood.

Beyond the fact that he was absolutely breathtaking, he clearly hadn't finished training himself up to a full transformation. Newt didn't care that he had just witnessed him tear someone's throat out with his teeth. He had known for a year that his husband was a force of nature that had been matched to a _nundu_. He wasn't afraid. But the fear that thrummed through him was entirely _for_ him when he saw the African man rise up behind him, eyes bulging in mad fury, hand clamped around his gaping throat, gleaming silver boot knife in hand. The blasting curse left his wand before he even realised that he'd cast it.

Harry thought he was aiming at him.

It was written all over his face in that split second when he saw Newt behind him. He thought the Hufflepuff was going to curse him, kill him, over what he'd just done, and the way he had just closed his eyes and braced for it in resigned acceptance. Newt didn't think Harry was even _aware_ of what he'd done in that split second before the spell struck the man behind him. Anger burned low in the pit of his stomach as he pressed a kiss to the former auror's forehead, reminding himself over and over that _his_ Professor Dumbledore hadn't been the one to condition his husband that way, that he hadn't done those things, and likely never would.

Another explosion shook the palace, and reluctantly Newt pulled back, "We need to go," he declared firmly, glancing to the far side where the erumpet was still rampaging.

Harry nodded dazedly, still staring up at him with too wide eyes filled in confused wonder, before shaking himself.

"I need to bring the wards down first, that'll let the others escape," he explained with a grimace, "They're well anchored, and I don't think we've got the time to do this properly, so it's going to knock me for six though," he warned.

Newt frowned in confusion, "What?"

Harry blinked at him before scrunching his nose up in frustration, "Sorry, future saying. It's going to knock me unconscious. Blowing them up the way I'm going to will be quicker than unpicking and unpinning the ward points, we don't have time to even _find_ them let alone unlace them. So instead, I'm going to rip them out, roots and all, and fold it into me. It'll prevent a cascading backlash that'll hurt the women and children, but that just means all the stress is going to punch _me_ in the face. Can you handle the erumpet while I get ready?" he asked, glancing to where the majority of the chaos was occurring.

Newt pressed his lips together, wanting to ask and question, but another explosion had him mentally vowing to demand his answers later when they were safe. "I can," he promised before darting forward and kissing him on the lips. It tasted awful, and the smell of blood was thick in his nose, but he didn't regret it as he pulled away and saw those green eyes he loved back on the Gryffindor's face. "Stay out of trouble," he ordered before turning on heel to run towards chaos.

"Physically impossible, love," he heard Harry say behind him, faint and a little breathless.

The Hufflepuff smiled to himself as he tugged a potion from his coat pocket and scrambled over rubble and sizzling stone still coated in popping and crackling explosive fluid.

Men were scrambling and shouting around him as he ducked between debris, rubble, and broken walls. A spell whizzed by his head to splash against a wooden table, and Newt retaliated with a well thrown phial that caused a rush of icy cold air to billow up his back, and a startled screech of alarm and discomfort behind him. A quick glance proved that he'd brewed the Ice-Flower Capture Field correctly, the corridor behind him was now carpeted with icy roses and thorny vines ensnaring three swearing and struggling soldiers.

Grinning to himself in accomplishment, he scrambled over a low wall, boots skidding on loose rubble nearly making him slip – but after running across the loose scree of a Chinese mountain, he was much more sure footed than most.

Ducking behind another wall he flinched as another explosion and bellow of pain from the female erumpet went up, her voice piping and high with distress as men around her bellowed and yelled. He had to find a way of getting her out of the chaos.

A spell shattered the wall just above his head, and Newt dove to the side, wand snapping up in a vicious stunning spell – the soldier dropped like a stone, but his companion raised one of those muggle guns.

He felt a chill and flung the first phial that came to his hand – a thick explosion of smog filled the area.

Newt's eyes widened and he quickly slapped a Bubblehead charm over himself. That was a aerosolised form of the Draught of the Living Death, no where near as strong as the original substance, Harry had written three variations of the combat potion and Newt had chosen the weakest one in order to ensure the statitute could be more easily maintained.

But it gave him an idea.

He had another four of that potion, just in case.

Mei chirped encouragingly from his pocket, trilling several notes. The Hufflepuff took a deep breath, feeling a hot rush of bravery and _eagerness_ in his veins. On top of the little phoenix's manipulation, he wanted to see how his potion skills measured up compared to where he used to be (he had never been the best at potions in Hogwarts, that title firmly belonged to Leta in their year-group).

He jumped to his feet, and scrambled atop the tallest chunk of wall he could reach near-by. It... wasn't easy, but it gave him the height he needed to see everything that was going on.

The female erumpet was barely ten metres away, thrashing but unable to move very far with her backlegs near-enough in ribbons. Someone had used a very weak cutting curse on the back of one leg, managing to get through her tough spell resistant hide, and another person had capitalised on the tiny chink to throw a blasting curse into it. Her back leg was _mangled_. It would take months to heal even with magic, if it ever did at all.

Practically trapped in one place with her bum leg, there was little she could do to fight or escape the soldiers swarming over her, throwing curses this way and that. Guns barked and she shrieked, and Newt had enough.

He flung the four potion phials into the air and nailed them with banishment charms.

The four potions shattered around her, billowing explosions of silvery blue gas filling the air.

Men shouted and yelled, alarm momentarily making the noise level rise into a cacophony – only to cut near enough immediately.

He heard the female pipe in confusion and exhaustion before and earth-shaking thud threatened to dislodge him from his perch.

He stayed where he was until the gas dissipated. He didn't know how much of it could be absorbed in via skin exposure, and wasn't willing to pass out in the middle of 'enemy' territory while he still had to get Harry out of there.

He could see men strewn across the ground, many were face down, some were on their backs, one man seemed to have cracked his head on some rocks when he passed out, and Newt took a split second to cast a healing charm at him as he darted across the broken masonry to the female erumpet's side.

Up close, that leg did not look as bad as he had feared. It would take near-enough an entire year to see to her, but she would be fighting fit and ready to return to the wild by then.

Unslinging his suitcase, he opened it up and prayed the vacuuming charms were still working as he, very basically, shoved the opening against the female's rump in order to suck her in.

Thankfully for the both of them, the charms were working fine, and she was dropped very gently into Edward the Re'em's former enclosure. Newt would see to her when he and Harry had escaped and it was safe to leave his suitcase unattended or protected for a time.

Snapping the case shut, he made sure the clips were secure before bolting back through the trail of destruction to where Harry was still within the General's office, sat cross-legged upon the floor with his hands stretched out in front of him, shimmering ripples of runic arrays appearing like reflections in a pond as he manipulated them.

He didn't stop until he was right behind him, setting his suitcase down to one side and then pressing his face into Harry's hair and breathing _deep_ , one hand curled desperately onto his shoulder. He felt the queer twisting of his insides slowly begin to relax, the tight knot of anxiety, the shivery rage slowly ebb and fade. The Gryffindor smelt of perfumed oils and silks, his hair had been conditioned with some manner of potion that left it soft and silky, like fur, and wholly unfamiliar to his senses. It felt like there was a sun under his skin, for someone who was normally rather cool to the touch, it was strange and almost _alien_ to feel the Gryffindor's elevated temperature, but have no sign of fever or discomfort upon his features.

"I'm done. Newt, could you step back? I don't want you to get caught in the backlash," Harry requested, his voice a little strained as he held the threads of the wards within his trembling bloodless fingertips.

Swallowing hard, and more reluctant than he had ever been to do anything before, Newt slowly pushed himself back to his feet, took his suitcase in hand, and backed up several paces.

Harry breathed out slowly, and then released the threads between his fingertips.

Immediately the _entire_ ward array flashed into livid scarlet rage in front of him, filling the room with ominous light.

Harry's fingers flew over the array even as it began to crumble in front of him, pulling and picking at threads here and there. Instead of decaying in chaos, it began to fold in and collapse on itself.

Instead of exploding, it began to implode.

And even though Newt was expecting it, had been told, watching that imploding point, as the edges began to crumble closer and closer to a single point level with Harry's forehead, exactly between his eyes, his heart seized – and then he felt the Wards _pop_.

And Harry jerked, his head snapping back as if struck, right before he crumpled.

Without a word or a sound.

And then Newt heard the sound of people apparating.

Unwilling to see if they were coming or going, the Hufflepuff hauled his husband up, and flashed away to his roof-top base just outside the palace in the middle of the city. He staggered a step, and dropped the suitcase as carefully as he could even as he sank to his knees, trying not to stub any of Harry's toes on the hard stone floor.

He flicked his wand over the former auror's unmoving form, scanning charms lighting him up, and breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing more than backlash. Backlash, exhaustion, migraines, severe stress, and...

Newt went cold.

Cruciatus exposure.

 _ **000**_

 **Ugh, sorry guys. I just couldn't get this chapter to the length I wanted. This was a nice cut off point, Harry is safe, Newt is taking care of him, I'm too exhausted to keep my eyes open but unwilling to leave you guys hanging for a week without an update.**

 **So enjoy. I'm going to go to bed and nurse my aches and pains from a two day LARP event (I fell in holly bushes, pot-wash is going to be PAINFUL tomorrow with all the scratches and grazes on my hands and arms).**


	25. Chapter 25

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twenty Five**

The familiar sight of Newt's desk greeted him when he woke.

Harry blinked slowly, staring at the array of parchments they had spelled onto the underside of the desk, calenders, maps, reminders, to do lists; his body moulded into the familiar lumps and bumps of their mattress; worn cotton and linen on his skin, wearing one of Newt's old shirts, the one that Godric had ruined beyond the ability of a repairo that Harry had roughly stitched back together and claimed as a nightshirt; the familiar sound of creatures in the distance; and the _smell_ , he closed his eyes and turned his face into the pillows, inhaling deeply as he burrowed into the nest of blankets and pillows.

He was home. It was just missing one thing.

Sighing deeply, he grimaced before mustering himself and crawling out of the bed.

He was still wearing the collar, bracelets, anklets, and belt. Annoying, but not unexpected. Either he would need to use the Elder Wand, or find out the password to unlock them – the matching set were heavily enchanted to be indestructible to prevent accidental magic outbursts from breaking them. The Chastity Belt though... he imagined a good old fashioned set of bolt-cutters could see him free of those. Or he could just do his Apparation party trick once he was out of the suitcase, it would make life a lot easier.

The door to the shed clattered open, and Harry paused as Newt stepped in, clearly trying to be as quiet as possible. He was dusty, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his body held in an awkward bend so as to minimise himself as if it could minimise the noise he made as well. The Gryffindor couldn't stop the smile that curled on the edges of his mouth even if he wanted to. Looking at Newt now, it struck him just how different the Hufflepuff was to everyone Harry had ever known, and yet how familiar he was all the same.

The mythozoologist turned once he had closed the door as softly as possible, and went very still the second he caught sight of Harry from under his fringe, eyes widening for all of a breath before he sprung forward. Harry laughed in delight, not quite managing to open his arms quickly enough before the Hufflepuff sweeping him up into a tight hug, practically sandwiching his arms to his chest. It was one of those hugs, where they just wrapped around each other as much as possible and rocked from side to side like fools, laughing helplessly in a tearful mixture of relief, happiness, and love.

Newt squeaked a little when Harry physically picked him up, and spun him around. Only to laugh once his feet were under him, and pepper the Gryffindor's face with kisses.

He cupped the former auror's face between his calloused hands, smiling gently, "Hey," he greeted softly.

Harry snorted, he gets kidnapped and the first thing his husband says as soon as he wakes up is 'hey'. "Get down here," the Gryffindor ordered mirthfully, reaching up to twine his hands into the Hufflepuff's hair and drag him down into a kiss that made his toes curl.

Any plans for reunion sex were ruined when Newt's hands trailed down to his waist, and then stuttered to a stop when they found the chastity belt.

"Uhm..." Newt broke the kiss, his gaze flickering down to it, and then back up to Harry's face with an expression of poorly concealed concern, and discomfort. "I – are you – he didn't – my scanning charms said you hadn't been – that he hadn't..." he trailed off, seemingly at a loss as to how to approach this particular conversation tactfully.

"Raped me?" Harry offered blandly, mouth quirked into a dry smirk as he raised an eyebrow.

Newt flustered a little, hands flinching away from the Gryffindor's waist, "Well, other things could have – I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable – such things are – "

Harry dragged him into another kiss, twisting them in place until Newt's back was against his ladder out of the suitcase, practically pinning him in place as he climbed into his lap rutting against him aggressively even as he stuck his tongue as far down the Hufflepuff's throat as he could. After a few flustered squeaks, and a little flailing, Newt really got into it too, one hand knotted in Harry's hair while the other gripped a buttock guiding his movements, the faintest trace of nails on Harry's skin sliding down and just brushing under the belt – _and flinching back_.

He inhaled sharply, pulling his head away, "Harry I – "

"Nope," the Gryffindor refused, kissing him again, briefly, "No flinching," he ordered as he sat back, hands knotted in the fabric of Newt's shoulders. His expression gentled, "He didn't touch me Newt. He wanted to, but never got the chance. He got off more on using the cruciatus than anything he actually did to me. Didn't really give him a chance. I'm _fine,_ " he soothed kindly, reaching up and stroking one of Newt's cheeks.

The mythozoologist pressed his lips together anxiously, giving him a look remarkably reminiscent of a guilty puppy, "You – you _sure_ you're alright?" he pleaded quietly.

"I'm sure, love. I promise," Harry told him gently.

Newt pressed his lips together, squinting at him in concern, before sighing and ducking his head down to bury his face in Harry's neck, tightening his grip on the Gryffindor into a proper hug. Harry chuckled softly, shifting into a more comfortable position on top of him, and snuggling in close. They stayed where they were for several minutes, seeing no need to move or do much of anything, just breathing one another in, eyes shut, listening to each other's heartbeats, feeling their warmth. It had only been a few days, but the frantic concern and fear had made it feel _much_ longer.

Eventually, Harry pushed himself up, and Newt let his arms fall to the Gryffindor's waist as he peered curiously up at him.

"Come on, let's get these off. Did you manage to find my wand or kit before getting me out?" he asked as he pulled away completely. Newt flushed and shook his head.

"No, I'm afraid not. It quite slipped my mind to even look in all the excitement," he admitted sheepishly.

Harry shrugged, "No matter, we'll just have to go back then. But first things first, I want out of these." Ostensibly so he could jump his husband for reunion sex, but Newt didn't have to know that until it was too late.

"But how are you going to – " Newt trailed off in confusion, and then squawked in surprise when Harry casually climbed up and over him to the exit of the suitcase. "Harry! You can't go out there in just your nightclothes!" the Hufflepuff squawked, catching one of his ankles in one hand. Usually his skin would have felt like fire to Harry, but they felt strangely cool now – a sign that he _really_ needed to get these cuffs off and get his wands back, he needed to work some magic off and soon. The problem when you had so much of it was that if you didn't _use_ it, the situation became rather like a medically painful case of blue-balls.

Harry grinned wickedly, shifting his hips slightly so Newt would have no problem seeing up his night-shirt from his current angle, "I'll show you my party trick," he teased salaciously watching in smug satisfaction as the mythozoologist went rather pink, eyes flickering a moment before his grip slackened enough for Harry to make a swift lunge for the ceiling, slipping out of his grasp before he could snatch him back.

"Harry!" Newt yelped, scrambling up after him as the Gryffindor escaped the suitcase onto the roof he'd warded in the middle of the city. He sighed, slumping against the lip of the suitcase as Harry stretched happily in the sun, breathing deeply in satisfaction. Gryffindors. Designed to drive everyone into the grave with stress just trying to keep up with them. "Would you get back in the case please, Harry? You're in nothing but a night-shirt, it's hardly appropriate," he scolded tiredly as he hauled himself out properly, "And I thought we were going to get your wands back?" he added pointedly.

Harry laughed, "In a bit. I want to show you my party trick," he cheered.

Newt went pink, "I'm sure I can imagine what it might be. And this is hardly the best place."

The Gryffindor shorted, and then swirled away in a short apparation to the otherside of the roof, right next to Newt – the loud clang of his bracelets, anklets, collar, and chastity belt hitting the roof.

Along with his shirt.

Newt stared at the fallen pile in open mouthed shock, before he looked over to his husband, bare as the day he was born, grinning like the cat that ate the canary and stole a saucer of milk to wash it down.

He lifted his arms teasingly, "Ta'dah!"

And then pounced on the stunned Hufflepuff.

 _ **000**_

Sa'id's palace was still like a kicked over ant-hill, but this time muggles were involved, and Harry could see several white people in the mix as well. He shook his head as he saw people blatantly using magic in front of them as they sifted through the ruins that the erumpet, Evie as Newt had now named her, caused the previous evening. Either way, the action seemed to be mostly divorced from the General's office, so they should be safe to raid it for Harry's belongings no problem.

Harry apparated them to the bushes just outside his office where they wouldn't be seen, a quick peek through the leaves showed the office was empty, and the two quietly snuck in.

Newt went for the desk, while Harry started hunting through the cupboards around the office.

"He... had a child?" Newt asked, no doubt having found the draw of finger-paintings.

"William. About four years old. Cute kid. I made arrangements for him to escape with his mother, Lakisha, and Asha, remember the snake animagus back when we first met? Her," Harry explained as he found his clothes, and some of his auror kit in one of the cupboards.

Newt stared down at the art-work in his hands, and huffed a small smile, "Is that why it took you so long to escape?" he asked quietly. In the few villages and towns they'd passed through, Newt would have had to have been particularly blind and obtuse not to notice how Harry's behaviour changed around children, not to mention how he spoke about his godson Teddy, his bestfriend's children Hugo and baby Rose, little Freddie who was already proving to be as much of a live-wire as his namesake, and the little madam that was Victoire. All of them Harry's godchildren, because apparently his friends could think of no one safer to care for their children should the worst happen to them. It was kind of sweet in a way, and watching Harry playing with some of the children in the rural villages they passed through when Newt went hunting for information on local wildlife only made it obvious just _why_.

Harry nodded absently, "Yep. The kid appeared literally as I was about to ram a shard of glass in the back of his neck. Shitty timing, but it was a good thing he wasn't a split second later, or I'd have felt super-bad," he admitted as he used his magi-glass to look for the familiar signature of the Elder Wand in the office.

Bingo, behind the tapestry.

Pulling the tapestry down as fairly easy – even if he did have to dodge the falling pole it was attached to. The 'safe' was little more than a warded wooden cupboard with locking charms and Harry could only shake his head in disgust. As far as Dark Lords went, Sa'id was one of the very few frighteningly intelligent ones that actually _used_ muggle technology in conjunction with magical abilities, giving him a range of power and adaptability that was unlike any of the fools Harry had had to deal with in the past. For Circe's sake, he was the only one to _successfully_ take over the fucking country, magical and muggle. He had a position of power within the muggle government and held most of them under the _imperio_ , and had taken over the magical government as well, he'd even taken things a step further by annexing the muggle Sultan to Zanzibar where the old treatise and laws couldn't be put into effect. He had been terrifyingly intelligent and underhanded in a way that only Blaise Zabini had been in the past.

And he had a warded wooden cupboard as his secret safe.

Harry wasn't sure if he should be disgusted or disappointed, or perhaps both.

Using an elbow, he broke the cupboard without bothering to try and remove the locking charms or break the wards. No point. No need. They were all there to keep it from being noticed, and unlocked. Harry's magi-glass meant he could _see_ the wards, and he wasn't even trying to unlock it.

Inside was both of his wands, his wedding ring, and a few other odds and ends, a diary, a stack of letters, and a necklace.

With a familiar symbol on it.

Harry blanched as he stared at the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

Of fucking course Ochuka was working with Grindelwald.

 _ **000**_

The last thing Charlus Potter expected to find when he walked into the office of the late General Sa'id Ochuka, was his bestfriend's younger brother rifling through the man's desk like an auror on a mission.

Newt twitched and looked up, those chameleon coloured eyes of his widening in surprise and then horror.

" _Harry no!_ "

That wasn't what he expec-

Something rammed into him, hard, fast, and he hit the ground, feeling hands and legs twisting around his body as they rolled – _Merlin's left tit what just happened?_

He gagged as the grip on him tightened, and at that moment, he realised he was face down on the floor, his arms and legs pinned into awkward placements, someone was on his back, but he couldn't move enough to see them or shake them off, or even more worryingly, _reach his wand_.

The sound of Newt hurrying over was, however, reassuring. He was a quick little bastard when he got it into his head to move, both he and Theseus had made sure of it, and he was perhaps the most physically strong of all three of them, having enough power to wrestle with disagreeable hippogriff stallions, sans wand. And hadn't that been an eye-opener when he witnessed it.

"Harry, it's fine, it's fine. I know him! He's safe, you can let him up, I promise," Newt was babbling to whomever it was holding him down. Charlus had his suspicions, in fact he was pretty certain who this person was.

"Newt, given what I just found in that safe – " the stranger grit out darkly, his grip tightening.

"It's my brother's bestfriend, Harry, I promise you whatever it was he isn't involved," Newt soothed.

"You can't guarantee that. What the fuck is he even _doing_ in Kenya?"

"What are you two doing in Kenya is a better question," the young Potter demanded with a huff, "And, could you shift a bit, you're crushing my lungs," he wheezed out.

For a moment there was nothing, but then an ever so tiny shift of weight and instead of the weight pressing on his chest, it moved to his shoulders. Less painful, but also practically impossible to break out of. Sweet Circe, had Newt taken up with some kind of super Hit-Wziard or something? Not even his best aurors could pin him this effectively, Thee was actually the best at putting him down but he had to use a wand to do it.

"Newt...?"

"This is Charlus Potter, my brother's bestfriend, Harry, he's safe, I promise," the younger Scamander continued, stepping closer.

"Bollocks," the figure above him cursed, "Newt – he – I'm not – "

Not what? Please don't tell him that his bestfriend's baby brother had taken up with a criminal?

"It's fine. I won't let anything happen."

"Motherfucker, Newt, you know it isn't that simple!"

"Harry..." there was a tone of warning there, and Newt took another step forward, the figure above him shifted, and went very still. "Trust me."

"...That is just unfair," the figure above him complained softly, the barest trace of a whine in his tone before suddenly Charlus found himself released, and a pair of unfamiliar boots moved into his line of sight, Newt shifted away a few paces letting the Gryffindor get to his feet. And that was when he finally got a good look at the young man that had been causing them all so much trouble at home.

He was _tiny_.

"This is your husband?" Charlus found himself blurting out.

Judging by the look of alarm on the smaller man's face, he hadn't known anyone knew about them back in England, judging by the look of alarm on Newt's face _he_ was unaware anyone knew about them back in England.

"What?" the smaller of the pair blurted, before turning a horrified and semi-accusatory look onto the Hufflepuff. Newt caught it from the corner of his eye and quickly shook his head, hands up in surrender.

"I didn't – I never got the chance to send any letters back! They don't – shouldn't – " he turned to Charlus with a complete look of confused anxiousness on his face, a small part of the Gryffindor going out to him in sympathy because no doubt he was very afraid of how his mother and brother were reacting to the news, and then the complete lack of contact from him, "How did you even – "

"The family tapestries," Charlus explained, watching as Newt's face cleared in realisation, and then crumpled in horror.

"The what?" his husband demanded in rising trepidation.

Charlus offered him a warm smile, "Our family tapestries. It caused quite a stir when mother was checking it and found a new Potter, one that just so happened to have married into an allied family." He grinned then, sticking his hand out because he'd always wanted a younger brother, and this man's name was the closest to his on all the tapestries, even if it wasn't connected by any lines, which meant they were in fact the most closely related (it had confused _everyone_ ), "It's nice to finally meet you, cousin Harry."

In that split second, green eyes went wide, and then his entire expression crumpled before the young man turned on heel and marched away. Newt flinched, hunching up when he passed without a word.

Charlus stared after him in confusion, and hurt.

"Please... don't take it to heart," Newt whispered miserably, Charlus slowly dropped his hand and looked over to him, "Family is a painful subject," the Hufflepuff admitted quietly, glancing over to where the young man was roughly pulling things out from an obscured cubbyhole in the wall.

"I don't – did I say something wrong?" he asked warily.

Newt shrugged a shoulder, "Not... as such. Family is just painful. Does... did mother..." he trailed off awkwardly, and Charlus allowed himself to snort in bitter amusement, trying to turn his attention away from the fact that apparently his new cousin wanted nothing to do with him.

"Oh yes, you are in _deep_ trouble Newton Artemis Fido Scamander. _**Deep**_ trouble."

Newt winced, but allowed himself a smile, "I'm sure I'll survive."

Charlus snorted, and folded his arms, "My question still stands. What are you doing here?" he demanded blandly.

The Hufflepuff suddenly scowled ferociously, taking the Gryffindor aback a moment, he hadn't seen that facial expression on the younger man's face since he walked into one of the biggest vicious arguments between him and Theseus he'd ever witnessed back during the war.

"He took Harry. So I took him back," the mythozoologist grit out, casting a glance over to his husband who was flipping through a pile of parchments.

Charlus blinked slowly, "He... _took_ Harry?"

Newt nodded shortly, "He... attacked us while we were passing through. We witnessed them attacking a herd of erumpet, taking one. A short while later while we were examining a streeler habitat we were attacked. Then barely two or three hours later they brought mortars to our second camp, Harry... he went down. And they took him. So, I – I snuck in and found him." He shrugged a shoulder self-consciously as he glanced around the office, "He... I spoke to one of the locals, she was surprisingly informative about the General's activities, none of them good, and when I looked into it, her information lined – Charlus, to put it plain, he was a Dark Lord. Harry had been held under the Cruciatus when I got to him! His magic had already turned in on itself and begun to rip him apart from the inside!" Newt blurted furiously, "I should have torn his throat out myself!"

"He was also working with Grindelwald," Harry announced as he shoved a letter into Newt's hands, having approached during their conversation without notice. "Our boy Ochuka's not only been providing China with illegal creatures, smuggling and supplies, but he's also been doing under the table deals with Grindelwald, providing him with ingredients and the like." Those letters were shoved at Charlus who gaped down at them in horrified bewilderment.

"What is – I'm – supposed to be investigating his murder."

He didn't miss the way that Newt immediately stepped closer to the diminutive man, or the way his cousin's gaze sharpened up. Hadn't Newt said something about... tearing the man's throat out?

"Investigate away," the unknown Potter told him blandly, handing him a leather bound diary.

"Be careful in the greenhouses," Newt warned him seriously, "He kept a local creature known as Swooping Evil in there, it operates much like a Dementor but in opposite. It consumes bad memories and leaves only the pleasant ones. The General was using its venom in the local water supply. Its why no one has been able to report his activities," he explained, turning his attention back to his husband, and gently dragging a hand through the young man's hair, "No one could remember any of the awful things he was doing."

"Likely as not you'll also have to deal with some very confused muggles, and a pissed off Kenyan Ministry," his cousin added, leaning into the touch like an affectionate cat, "He held a lot of people under the imperius curse."

"Merlin," Charlus breathed before turning his attention to the book in his hands.

"Oh, and watch yourself. Apparently powerful people are unusual outside of England, so everyone gets a hard-on for them, which is weird," his cousin added with a wrinkled nose while Newt blinked and looked down at him in confusion.

Charlus stared, "What?"

"Language Harry," Newt reminded him gently.

"Oh. I mean, magically powerful people are common in England, so it isn't a big deal. Elsewhere in the world, magically powerful people are rarer, so there's a much higher sexual interest in us. Watch yourself, because people get fucking creepy."

Charlus snorted a helpless laugh, "That... explains the Empress."

The two blinked and then looked at each other in askance before back to him, "What... do you mean? I know I saw you in China, but what were you even _doing_ there?" his cousin asked warily.

The older Potter rolled his shoulders, "Grindelwald's got himself some new followers that seem to have it out for my family. Fleamont's had to go into hiding with his wife, Harold's had to deal with one assassination attempt already, and I've had far more 'workplace accidents' than can be explained away. Even Dorea's getting some unusual attention in that area. The Minister decided to send me out on some diplomatic visitations to get me out of the way, in light of Grindelwald's activities, I'm supposed to be gathering allies to deal with him. Well, Theseus is supposed to, I'm officially there as protection. In actuality, he's there as _my_ protection because your brother is a bone-headed dragon when it comes to people he cares about. You nearly gave him a heart attack by the way with that stunt in the flea market."

"Oh god, Thee was there?" Newt asked tightly in horror.

Charlus nodded solemnly, "Yes. He says your duelling technique has slipped by the way, but your animate transfiguration is, as always, flawless. It took us over an hour to deal with that pygmy Ironbelly by the way you little shit. You owe me alcohol for that," he added with an irritable scowl. Newt chuckled sheepishly. "Imagine our surprise when we're in talks with the Chinese Ministry a few days later, and suddenly an envoy from the Magical Empress arrives officially inviting us to dinner as an apology for inconveniencing the Scamander family."

Newt put his head in his hands, while his husband stared with wide eyes.

Charlus shrugged a shoulder, a semi-hysterical smile curling on the edge of his lips, "The Empress was quite taken with Thee."

"Oh Merlin," Newt moaned.

"She never gives up..." Harry muttered faintly.

"Oh no," Charlus refused, "That one was _all_ Theseus."

 _ **0000**_

 **Charlus wasn't even supposed to be mentioned until MACUSA. Nothing about the Scamander and Potter families knowing about the wedding was supposed to be brought up until MACUSA when the fucking Minister of England asks Newt "And I suppose this is your husband, Mister Potter?" And the two of them have a minor freak out. But instead, I ran into a writer's block wall. Charlus picked me up, hopped it, and ran off while I was screaming about his going in the wrong direction. Bastard.**

Due to request the name of Sa'id has been changed. All characters within my fics unless otherwise stated are fictional, all resemblances to peoples living or dead is entirely coincidental.


	26. Chapter 26

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twenty Six**

Charlus watched his cousin with wary eyes as the young man mercilessly tore through the General's office with the efficiency of an auror on assignment. Newt stood back, watching him with worried eyes as he let the young man do what he obviously knew how to do. In his arms was the growing collection of files, papers, and objects that painted a _**very**_ different picture of a man the ICW were convinced was the best thing to happen to Southern Africa in decades.

When Charlus had left China, incidentally leaving Theseus to the 'tender' mercies of the Chinese Empress (it would not surprise him if his bestfriend walked out of the country a married man if the way the two had hit it off was any indication), he had been the only fully qualified and trained auror within reach when word got out about the assassination of General Ochuka. Almost immediately the Kenyan Ministry fell to pieces, and the ICW were forced to intervene within the following twelve hours just to maintain the statitute of secrecy. Charlus had received an express summons to look into the matter, whomever had murdered the young General needed to be brought to justice before all of Southern Africa went to pot, and Grindelwald seized an opportunity to slide one of his sympathisers in.

A little too late for that, he concluded, glancing to the enchanted pendent currently swinging from Newt's hand, the chain clenched firmly in his fist.

His cousin was something else though.

With some manner of enchanted binoculars, more than likely home-made given how they didn't match any manner of known object to him, he managed to pinpoint every single warded cupboard, safe, and passage within the office and picked them clean.

Dark artefacts, books, sickening trophies, folders of information, detailed breeding and experimentation manuals featuring graphic and horrifying pictures of the results of cross species breeding and the after effects of experimental potions used on humans, lists of men and women held under the imperio and why, blackmarket contacts, muggles he had made aware of magic, exactly what he'd made them aware of – the man was a meticulous note taker, highly organised, and _exceptionally_ intelligent. Which made him all the more terrifying because Charlus was looking down at the schematics for a muggle tank that had been ENCHANTED.

And then the young man found something that made him stop dead.

"Harry?" Newt asked suddenly, concern filling his voice in a way that had even Charlus straightening up in concern.

The Hufflepuff shoved his armful of evidence onto him and rushed over to his cousin. Charlus dumped the books and files onto one of the tables and came up behind them, frowning at the multiple photographs of dead bodies in the green eyed man's hands. Newt was frowning at them as well, Harry was just staring at them with his face several shades paler than normal.

Suddenly, he banished everything off Ochuka's desk and emptied the folder across it, multiple pictures and reports of dead bodies, property damage, and mutilated animals scattering across the wood.

"Give me the journal," the younger Potter demanded, holding a hand out without looking away from the pictures. Newt passed it over without even questioning which made Charlus raise an eyebrow, the Hufflepuff was a nosy little bugger who was physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut when he had questions. It drove both he and Theseus absolutely crackers back in school because he just would not shut up!

The green eyed man flipped through the pages rapidly, eyes scanning for a very specific word before he landed on an entry about two months ago and swore a _vile_ blue streak.

"Harry?" Newt asked again, a hand pressing against the back of his neck, fingers knotting into his long hair.

"Obscurus. Grindelwald is hunting for an Obscurus," he announced after taking a deep breath, hands braced against the desk, his head bowed.

Charlus felt like the bottom of his stomach had dropped out, "What in Morrigan's name would he need one of those for?" he breathed.

Harry shook his head, "I don't know. I know he encountered one when he was younger. Accidentally killed her. This could be... I don't know, he might be trying to – it doesn't make any _sense!_ Not unless..." he trailed off shaking his head and snarling under his breath. Newt dug his fingers into the back of his neck and the young man took a deep breath, held it... and then breathed out slowly before straightening up. He grabbed all the photos and reports, making sure he gathered them all and tucked them back into the folder, and then he turned to the Hufflepuff.

"Newt, I'm sorry, but we're taking a detour to Sudan," he announced firmly looking his husband dead in the eye with an intensity that made Charlus hold his breath without even realising why, his eyes going wide, that – he knew that expression, had seen it on Dorea's face more than once. "They managed to narrow down the location of a child to Southern Sudan, a muggle area. I'm going."

There was a short pause and Newt nodded slowly, "We're going," he agreed.

"Whoa, whoa, hold your horses!" Charlus exclaimed, " _Neither_ of you are going anywhere! In case you've forgotten this is an official murder case, and I've just caught you rifling through the deceased's personal belongings?" he reminded them.

He didn't know what he expected, but the two exchanged a short glance where his cousin arched an eyebrow and made a brief gesture towards him, and Newt shook his head with a grimace. And just like that, the smaller of the two twisted around the Hufflepuff and they were _**gone**_.

Apparating clean out of the office without so much as a 'bye your leave', and leaving him in the middle of a bomb site filled with evidence that was going to turn the ICW on its head.

Charlus growled as he dragged a hand down his face, "I'm so telling his mother about this," he decided.

Mama Scamander could deal with her youngest and his trouble-maker of a husband.

 _ **000**_

Newt was... concerned.

Harry was intense at the best of times when he took it into his head to deal with something, he was not a man of half-measures when someone's life was on the line. Never mind that of a child.

Merlin... An Obscurus. Grindelwald was hunting for an Obscurus.

What would he even _need_ a horribly abused child for?

Harry seemed to think he wished to play on the similarities between Ariana and the child in order to prevent Professor Dumbledore from being able to effectively fight him, and as the only known magically powerful enough person to square off against Grindelwald it... would make sense that the German wizard sought to emotionally compromise the one known threat against him. It also seemed that this plan had lost him what little respect Harry actually held for him – when explaining the history of the Elder Wand, Harry admitted that he could respect Grindelwald for telling Voldemort to choke on a fat one when he came demanding answers about the wand, and willingly died before he would sell Professor Dumbledore out.

But what little respect Harry had for him had died the moment he learned that the man was hunting for a child. That he would be willing to _use_ such a child in the up coming war.

The Hufflepuff was fairly certain that at this point in time, Harry's desire to rock the boat of the timeline as little as possible had been thrown _out_ of said boat, and the second he found himself nose to nose with the Dark Lord in question, it would be the second both of his wands were drawn and casting without hesitation.

Harry was focused, wholly and completely, on getting to Sudan and finding the child before any of Grindelwald's men did. If Newt weren't dragging him into bed, or enforcing stops to eat and bathe, the Gryffindor would not have stopped until he found that child. He was a live-wire of nervous tension, leg jogging up and down constantly whenever he had to sit down, his eyes constantly drawn to the North-North-West that they were travelling towards. More than once, Newt had woken up to find his husband missing, his _broomstick_ missing, and the lock on the case engaged as he flew them closer still to their destination because he couldn't sleep and couldn't stand just lying there doing nothing.

It worried him, but at the same time he could understand, and even support his husband to a degree.

They passed through Southern Sudan, heading north. They by-passed the capitol in the night on broom, Khartoum a distant glow of light on the horizon that stained the sky a murky orange grey. The last point that the General's men had managed to track the child to was the Gebeit area, in the mountains to the north-east. There were a few respectably sized villages there, and a number of much smaller ones further into the mountains where goat herding was more common.

It was dry, and hot, and _gritty_.

The closer they got, the less Harry spent on the broom, leaving them hiking along dusty cattle trails and crumbling old roads that, once upon a time, may have been some manner of trade or army convoy route through to Port Sudan, or even the smaller Suakin.

Every person they passed, Harry would stop to talk briefly. Words would be exchanged, sometimes they would be brushed off, others, Harry would actually be able to rummage the pictures from his bag. Newt had no idea what was said, often times the locals made some rather odd gestures that looked as though they were warding off evil as Harry spoke. Later he would tell Newt that he was telling them that he was a doctor who specialised in children's diseases, that a colleague had passed the pictures to him and he recognised it as a disease that while instantly fatal to adults once contracted, had a much slower gestation period in children. He was looking for the source before anyone else got hurt or killed.

They had no joy in Sinkat, at the base of the mountains towards the Gebeit town.

And after several miserable days of sweaty hiking, sore feet, and Newt watching helplessly as his husband rubbed his face, wound up, restless, but unable to move forward, unable to sleep.

Then they reached Gebeit.

It was a neat, orderly village, the houses in neat almost uniform layout with straight precise streets encased within a ringroad that went the length of the village. The people stared and talked about them behind their hands, children followed at their heels, some ran away screaming at the sight of them, people came out of shops to watch them, and one young lad reached out and slapped Harry's arm before rushing away in fright. Newt wondered if any white people had ever bothered to come to this village before. Likely as not the children had never seen someone with skin like theirs, and the older ones had probably either seen or heard stories – none of them good judging by the looks on the faces of the men, the way the women skittered away from them, clutching at their children.

He would have wondered if Harry even noticed judging by the way he paid them no mind, but Newt wasn't that stupid. Harry definitely noticed. He just didn't care as long as the attention didn't turn nasty. Which Newt didn't think it would. It was similar to how a few of the more remote villages in China acted, a little more fearful as the stories of white men in this part of the world were far darker (and based in truth, he was sad to know). Thankfully, Harry's language skills were up to the challenge of remembering Arabic, even if he did sometimes get his words mixed up. The locals seemed to find it funny though once he got talking to them. So it wasn't like they were searching for the child completely in the blind, even if a lot of the locals would rather try to ward them off as demons than answer questions.

They did eventually get lucky with a goat herder who was at least willing to talk to them over his pipe. He had been filthy, with a few missing teeth, and despite being their age, if not younger, had a weather beaten face and grey hairs peppered here and there, making him look considerably older under all the dirt and dust. More concerning was the way he paled by _degrees_ when Harry finished up his shpiel and showed him the pictures. He begged them to turn away for their own safety, because _that_ was no sickness, his brother had left to become a doctor in the city, _he_ knew about sicknesses, and that was not one. It was a _demon_ of shadow and rage, it would kill them if they disturbed it, and kill others along with them.

"Where?" Harry demanded, seizing the bony young man by the shoulder, " _Where?! The child's life can be saved if we get there before it breaks them! Where?!_ " he roared, shaking the man roughly.

Newt had no idea what the young man gibbered, but Harry must have understood something in the garbled mixture of words, prayer, and by now semi-familiar hand-gestures used to ward away evil, because a moment later he was shoving a ridiculous amount of money into the goat herder's stunned grasp, and dragging Newt away through the village. They went North, following the river up one of the winding dusty goat-tracks.

"He said there was a village! Up here!" Harry explained, several paces ahead once they were out of the village and half-way up the mountain, forging ahead on the rocky unstable path with single minded focus. Newt could have pulled up beside him, but with the way the Gryffindor was behaving right now, he was much more comfortable behind him, just in case he slipped. Plus, the path was quite narrow. "He said – the demon – stole a child about a year ago! They sealed it in the caves – in an old goat hut – a few miles from the village!" he explained through panted breaths before he came to a stop at a somewhat more open area, letting Newt catch him up.

"In a goat hut?" the Hufflepuff echoed in disgusted bewilderment.

"A shack," Harry confirmed before shifting, and frowning, "Newt, we're going to see some pretty rough stuff on this, and... I'm going to need to handle it myself, especially as the child is an Obscurial. Can you handle that, can you trust me to know what I'm doing and _let_ me do it?" he asked solemnly, looking him dead in the eye.

Newt frowned, "Of course, why wouldn't I?" he asked honestly confused.

Harry twitched a half smile at him, " Because hearing about a child being hurt, being used, is very different to _seeing_ it, from being right there in front of it all. You'll – it'd be like Godric as an infant, but you're not allowed to help, because he's frightened, deadly, and just as much of a danger to himself as to us. You're going to have to go against all of your instincts and let me handle this. You're... I can't have you interfere Newt. Dealing with Obscurials is delicate, if I – if the situation isn't sterile, controllable, it could very well end up killing the child," he explained sadly, brushing his knuckles against Newt's arm, whether to comfort himself or the Hufflepuff he couldn't tell, but –

Slowly, Newt nodded, and caught his husband's hand, pressing a kiss to his fingers.

"I understand."

He'd never been one of those men that got dewy eyed over children anyway, always preferring creatures to people as they were much less complicated. Harry thus far had been the only exception to that rule. And for him, Newt would do as he was told and stay out of it as much as possible.

 _ **000**_

The village they reached didn't have a name, or at least one that either of them had been able to glean. And it was not very welcoming. The second that Harry started to explain his coverstory, the men even tried to drive them out. Rocks and insults were thrown, curses, one man screamed that Allah would never give their wives any sons before he lobbed a handful of goat dung at them.

Harry never did have a good temper.

Newt sighed and prepared his wand as Harry snarled and vanished the dung in midair. People started screaming almost immediately and the dung thrower tried to run, at least until Harry summoned him straight back and grabbed him by the throat. It was a good thing that the Hufflepuff had gotten so skilled with the Confoundus Charm over the course of his travels, a few seconds of speedy wand work and the village were now under the impression they both had guns, and that Harry was particularly skilled with a whip – he couldn't really alter their perception of the Gryffindor though, they seemed to have decided that he was terrifying and no amount of magic was going to change that.

"This way," the Gryffindor announced as Newt finished with the last of the villagers, showing him to another goat-track, this one leading to the west and deeper into the mountains.

They walked in stony silence until Harry abruptly stopped, and swore softly. Newt frowned as the younger man rubbed his face and sat down on one of the near-by rocks, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring down at his hands, head bowed.

"Newt... I should – probably tell you this before we actually get there," he admitted heavily.

"Tell me what?" the Hufflepuff asked as he dropped his pack and sat down beside his husband, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. What else was there? What hadn't Harry told him? It must have something to do with an Obscurial if he wanted to get this out before they actually confronted one – what else had Dumbledore done to him?

"I haven't – no one actually knows about – this. I – I didn't even know about it for a long time. Not until, well, I started auror training and – you know they check for memory charms and remove them. There were a few but, yeah, this one was... I never actually told anyone before – I mean, who would actually believe me?" he asked with a bark of bitter disbelieving laughter that cut off far too quickly.

Newt tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder and leaned in closely.

Harry wet his lips slowly, twisting his fingers around themselves before he began to fiddle with his wedding ring.

"I – everyone knows Obscurials don't survive past the age of ten, right? Okay, that's wrong. They – it's the magical maturation process, you know? When a young witch or wizard's body develops to a point where their magic can settle, it's the first maturation process that begins at the offset of puberty. The physical body supports the magical maturation. So... when magic turns inwards... and becomes violent and repressed... there's no way to settle it. When the body gets the first flush of puberty, it tries to settle the magic, and the inturned magic explodes in a violent wave that shreds the link between the physical body and itself. Thus... killing the child," he explained softly, rubbing his thumbnail as he shivered tensely under Newt's hand.

"This, muggles have subtly different physiology to magicals, we know that. Muggleborn however sit just a little bit closer to muggles than half-bloods or purebloods. Meaning that their bodies can't _handle_ the stress of the maturation process when they possess an Obscurial. It kills them. Halfbloods, and purebloods, when they have _enough_ magical power have a slim chance... of surviving it. Because their bodies are developed to handle magic more easily than our muggleborn cousins. If they're powerful enough, the Obscurus will protect the Obscurial's physical form because it is a parasite, and it knows that if the body dies, it will too.

"Ariana Dumbledore survived to the age of fourteen before Grindelwald killed her. She was the oldest fully unrecovered Obscurial."

Newt shifted a little closer, "She survived, because she was a half-blood," he observed, and Harry nodded.

"Yes. You see, Obscurials _can_ recover. They _**can**_. But it takes time, it takes effort. In the end, the source of the Obscurus is closer to a... a kind of split personality in a young witch or wizard. It is something they repress so hard, that it turns inward and forms a will of its own. Often a dark and violent one as all the hatred, sadness, and fear, all those negative emotions the child feels in relation to their abusers to their situation to their magic itself gets pushed there as well, because no one is supposed to know they're hurt so they have to hide it, and their abuser often is annoyed of being reminded that they one they're hurting feels, or they have some kind of sick enjoyment from it, so the child hides it in the hopes that if they're boring enough the pain will stop." Newt squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath because that tone was experience. The voice of experience and it was _Harry_ and –

"I – my healing ability – " Harry took a deep breath and pushed to his feet, slipping away from Newt to stand at the edge of the path looking down at the village below them.

"I was an Obscurial."

"My Aunt and Uncle liked to pretend that magic didn't exist. But I'm hardly an idiot. They called me freak, they punished me for all my accidental magic, they rejected me, locked me in a cupboard because I was _different_. I was _Other_. I was a freak, and I wasn't welcome. I kept turning my magic inwards, I hoped that if I stopped being a freak, stopped my accidental magic, they would love me like they did Dudley. That I'd get a bed, it wouldn't have to be a big fluffy one like Dudley, but yeah, a bed with a blanket and an actual pillow would have been nice. To have a place set at the table when we ate. Little things.

"It might never have happened if my Aunt Marge wasn't involved. We aren't related, but she's my Uncle's sister, so I have to treat her with respect. She bred bulldogs. When I was little, she had this foul tempered bitch called Regina. Go figure that the next horrible hound she had was one of her pups, but either way... Aunt Marge would whack me with her walking stick at every opportunity, she talked badly about my parents, me, would encourage my cousin to hit me. Said it would toughen me up, since I was such a runt and it was illegal to drown me, though it would have done everyone a lot of good if the Doctor had."

He shrugged, and Newt had to swallow down bile.

"My arm was black with bruises, and I asked Dudley to stop – so he punched me in the face instead. Broke my glasses. My magic reacted. Dudley's hand started to swell like a balloon. He started screaming, Aunt Petunia started screaming. Uncle Vernon yelled, and Aunt Marge – she... set Regina on me.

"I don't have any scars. I should have. Up and down my arms, my face, my neck. She bit me everywhere she could, grabbed onto my shoulder and shook me.

"I could hear Aunt Marge telling Dudley that she would make sure I got what I deserved. Uncle Vernon told her not to kill me, and said ' _Good_ ' when she said she'd make me _wish_ I was dead. I just... I fell apart. I exploded.

"I blew the whole house up. I killed Regina, I buried everyone and... I collapsed. I came back to myself. My healing magic wouldn't let me stay like that, wouldn't let my magic turn in on itself. It fixed me up, and broke itself in the process. It came with some... side effects," he admitted, lifting a hand and letting Newt watch it go smoky and _gold_. Almost all the stories of Obscurials showed the magical backlash as black and inky, Harry's was golden and glowing, it looked closer to the actual molten metal as it was stirred in a cauldron or something.

He snapped his hand shut and it became flesh again, a little lighter in colour, but that faded soon enough.

"Accidental Magic Reversal showed up, they fixed the house, and figured out that my magic went boom when the dog attacked me, as everyone else was in the hall or upstairs, they assumed that no one knew it was happening. So they just amended the memories, made everyone think that the dog had gotten outside and hit by a car hence why it was dead. None of their checks showed anything unusual on me. They even did it to me. Probably to make sure I didn't reject my magic. But...

"I was an Obscurial, and in order to connect with this kid, set them at ease, I'd have had to show them that. I didn't want you to freak out," Harry explained with a tired slump to his shoulders before he turned around and sat back down beside his husband, resting his head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry I kept it from you but... I didn't really want – to confront it, in all honesty. Not even Ron or Hermione knew."

Newt sighed and wrapped his arms around his husband, "I think... when we get back to England, we should talk to Harold about some form of Child Protection division in the aurors."

Harry laughed wetly against his shoulder, gripping him tightly.

 _ **0000**_

 **TA'DAH!**

 **The story of how Harry's healing magic broke, why he's so reluctant to really put kids in potentially bad positions, why he's so determined to protect this kid, why he was so pissed off with Grindelwald, etc, etc.**

Due to request the name of Sa'id has been changed. All characters within my fics unless otherwise stated are fictional, all resemblances to peoples living or dead is entirely coincidental.


	27. Chapter 27

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twenty Seven**

When Harry said goat-shack, Newt pictured something similar to a muggle shed. A wooden hut that was about a metre or two wide and long, a storage place at least, and an actual animal shelter about half the size of a respectable barn at best.

The shed itself was not big enough for a human to stand up in. About four-feet square, it was just about chest height with _Harry_ , filled with holes, rusted nails, dirt, dust, clumps of goat hair, and _stank_ to high heaven with the reek of human urine, faeces, and that of the animals that bleated around them from further up the mountain, none of them daring to approach the rickety dark shed.

Newt felt sick just looking at it, at the heavy metal bar that had practically been _nailed_ over the door, and the hatch at the bottom of it with a single metal bowl in front of it. Remnants of rice and now rotten vegetables decorating the bottom. The goats hadn't even risked getting close enough to the shed to lick away the remnants of whatever it was.

The two stared at the little hut in silence for a moment, before Harry unslung his backpack and passed it over to him with a grim facial expression.

Newt's voice stuck in his throat as he caught his husband's arm, his expression tortured as he looked at the tiny shack practically _dripping_ in misery, and at his husband who seemed to have suddenly aged twenty years in ways he couldn't understand, that made his eyes sting and his heart clench. Harry's lips twitched upward, it might have been a smile in other circumstances, but right now... nothing of the sort could have formed on his mouth. And Newt couldn't _speak_. His voice was stuck in his throat, in his nose, somewhere locked in his chest like some unidentified organ, thick, red, and _heavy_. He couldn't swallow it down, could barely breathe through it – and...

Harry pulled him down, pressing their mouths together harshly. Teeth and tongues, fingers digging into skin, the sting of blood, and bruised lips.

The Gryffindor tore himself away, pushing him away out of reach, and turned his back on him, straightening his shoulders and staring down at the heartbreaking shack in front of him. At the fate of a child so much like himself.

Quietly, his footsteps so carefully measured and soft he could have balanced plates upon his shoulders, he padded towards the shack, his stomach twisting harshly as he felt the magic in the air on his skin. Felt his flesh begin to drift, and knew his fingers and hair had begun to turn to golden mist.

He lifted a hand, staring down at the faint golden steam that drifted from his skin like a mirage, or the after-image of lights in the dark.

He could feel eyes watching him from the holes within the shack, could feel their magic beginning to mist like his own. Black, and gritty with pain, fear, and anger. Dark magic. As different as night was to day compared to his own. Once upon a time, his had been that colour too, saturated with pain, hate, fear, and anger. Just as dark. Just as _dirty_. It had taken time, and love to put him to rights, even after his Parselmouth magics broke themselves to put him back together.

Molly Weasley would never know how much her love had meant to Harry.

Or just how it had saved the Wizarding World.

Now, it was all he could do to follow her example.

He sat down outside the shack, next to the door, and leaned his back against the wood.

" _Once upon a time, the world was filled with magic..._ "

 _ **000**_

For the first day, Harry sat outside the shack and talked.

Newt was too far away to hear what he said, wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to know what was said.

But that was it.

For the first day, Harry talked. His skin glowing gold, his head leaning against the sunbleached wood behind him, dark hair hiding his features as he spoke.

He talked until the sun began to sink, until his voice cracked and failed, until he croaked a promise to come back tomorrow, and levered himself to his feet.

He pressed a hand against the wood of the shack for a long moment, staring at the grain beneath his fingertips in the twilight of the recently set sun, and promised again, before he turned and shuffled back to Newt's side.

They made love, and if Harry cried into his shoulder afterwards, silent and shaking, unable to show him, unable to admit to it because he couldn't admit to being weak, not when he needed to be strong, Newt couldn't do anything but hold him until he cried himself to sleep.

 _ **000**_

 _The sun man was back._

 _The moon man stayed away again, out of her clearing, further up the path._

 _He did that last time as well._

 _While the sun wove tales of men and women able to wield the power to change and create, the moon watched from afar. And slowly, she crept closer and closer to the wooden shield that kept her safe from the world outside._

 _She could feel the sun on her skin as she sat beside the wall. Felt him on her. And in the dark, she could see the black of her skin begin to crawl._

 _If they were the sun and the moon, then she was the black inbetween. The place without light._

 _Without hope._

 _ **000**_

 _She had not thought they would come back. But they did._

 _The sun sat back down outside, and this time she pressed her hands against the wood to feel his warmth and closed her eyes._

 _ **000**_

 _They came again._

 _And again._

 _And again._

 _The sun was bright and warm, he would tell her stories through her wooden walls, and laugh hard enough to shake them. The moon was shyer, but no less kind. He would sneak over on silent feet, gone before she realised he was even there, food within the hands of the sun, within the bowl at her door. Food for her. Water for her. A flower. She had almost eaten it so unused to it as she was._

 _She had forgotten what flowers were until then._

 _None of them grew in her hill._

 _She tore them all up._

 _ **000**_

 _The sun ripped the bar from her door. And she screamed in fear, rushing to her corner, curling up tight._

 _He did not come in._

 _He did not open the door._

 _He sat beside her door and talked to her again, like he had since he first arrived. Told her stories of a little boy whose family hated him. Told her how he hated his magic without ever knowing what it was. How it turned inside, and tore him to pieces, only to put him back together again._

 _Just like her._

 _How as the boy grew older, it was a kind lady with too many children for her husband to afford, but a heart so large she needed more, how she took the little boy in and taught him to love. How she saved him. And now he tries to save people too._

 _People like her._

 _The sun's name was Harry._

 _And he was like her._

 _ **000**_

For the first time since they arrived, Harry did not leave the little shack that night.

He stayed, leaning against the wall as he watched the stars overhead, too tired to cry, too tired to leave. Unwilling to abandon the child within the shack, the hurt and heartbroken soul he hadn't even seen. Newt would worry. He would understand. The shadow of a smile crossed Harry's lips as he stared up at the beautiful carpet of stars overhead.

He had only seen a night sky this beautiful in the mountains of Tibet, and the wilds of Africa.

Nine days he had sat himself down in front of this lonely little shack, and talked, and talked, and talked. He told the child everything he could about magic, about its history, about the good bits, and the bad, he told them about their magic, his magic, Newt's magic. Told them about Hogwarts. Told them stories of Ron and Hermione, of Teddy, the twins and we before I. Molly and her love. Told them about Newt and their adventures, about his time as an auror catching bad guys. Shared tales of happier times. He forced himself to laugh so he wouldn't cry. And went to bed exhausted and sobbing.

He wanted to destroy this _horrible_ place.

Wanted to hunt down the men and women that barred and nailed a child inside. Who, for over a week, didn't _dare_ return in order to feed them. Wanted to bring this _whole wretched mountain down on the village below and crush it_.

Wanted to cry, and sleep.

Wanted to crawl into Newt's embrace and _never ever_ leave.

To hide from the world, and the weight of the child's magic at his back.

At the taste of their pain on his skin.

At the tang of pain, of fear, the bitter sour vinegary taste of _anger_ that choked his throat and lungs. That filled his mouth and made him sick. Made his breath quake and his eyes burn and his nose clog.

But he couldn't.

He _couldn't_.

Because there was a child in that shack that needed him.

There was a child in that shack that _no one_ would help.

That no one _could_ help, but him.

Because no one else could help an _Obscurial_ but another Obscurial.

And wasn't that just entirely _fucking_ unfair?

He released a steady breath, the quiver in his heart alone.

Unfair.

That just about summed their lives up entirely, didn't it?

Unfair that they were put into this situation. Unfair that it was the actions of others that ruined them. Unfair that they were hated for things beyond their control. Unfair that the only ones that could help them were themselves. Unfair that _no one survived long enough to help_.

Accident.

That was all. The only reason.

Harry survived by accident.

He shouldn't have.

Story of his life.

To live where he should have died. To live where others _had not_.

Not like the others.

Freak.

Freak.

Unwanted.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, unsure of when he even closed them, and stared at the little girl crouched in front of him in the moonlight.

Naked and smeared with filth, she looked like a six year old, thin stick like limbs casting deep shadows across her dark skin, the seething black mist of her magic clouding her form, making her look like a blur of shadow with a riot of obsidian curls about her thin little face and _luminous_ brown eyes.

Harry didn't move.

He watched her as she watched him.

She crawled forward a pace, freezing a moment, watching him warily like a wild animal.

Slowly, inch by inch, she came closer and closer.

Harry twitched a closed lipped smile to her, her eyes flickering in wary curiosity. And slowly, so slowly that it hurt his arm muscles, he lifted a hand, palm up, towards her and held it out.

She stared at him, at his golden hand.

She looked down at her own hand, wreathed in black, and then once more to his own, her eyes tracing the familiar patterns and swirls of his magic. Identical to her own, save for the colour.

And Harry held his breath as slowly, she placed her hand in his.

 _ **000**_

 **This was too nice of a place to leave it, so that's this chapter finished.**


	28. Chapter 28

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twenty Eight**

He... had known it was a possibility, intellectually. Never actually considered it though. With their magic misting across their flesh, their skin somewhat less than tangible, he had known it was _possible_ somewhere distantly in the back of his head.

He just didn't think of that when he held his hand out to her, when she put her hand in his, when her magic bled into his own.

Fear. Anger. Anxiousness. Wariness. Hope. Hunger. Cold. Pain, always pain. A thousand different aches and burns, inside and out, physical and not. All of her emotions filled him, choked him like smoke, shivered across his skin and tried to drag him down beneath the tide of darkness. Children were creatures of emotion, after all, they knew nothing but their own feelings and could not even begin to control or repress them.

The moment her hand slipped into his, her darkness bled into his gold, and he saw _everything_ , felt _all of it_. Six years of happiness, of family and friends, the simple life of a little girl in a mountain village. Suddenly all changed when she showed her mother what she could do, when she made the flowers in their little vegetable allotment bloom out of season because it was her birthday. All changed when her mother saw her magic, and _turned_ on her. For a year she was locked away, for a year they tried to beat and burn the magic out of her, locked her away and starved as if it were some demon that could be forced out of her through lack of nourishment.

But it all failed. She was locked into the goat hut, her begging and apologies, her promises to do better, to stop, falling on deaf ears. And she _tried_. She tried so _hard_. She choked her magic, stamped it down, strangled and stuffed it away, held her breath until she passed out, and swallowed it back like bile until she felt it churn painfully in her stomach – but refuse to answer her call. She forced it down, and away, and _oh_ , it _hurt_. It hurt so much. But less than her mother's hate, her father's fear.

Her mother didn't believe her. She struck the wood of her hut, and screamed her hatred at her. Denied her. Wished her dead and gone.

She wept. And her magic raged.

The first person she killed was her mother.

Then her father when he came to avenge her.

She killed the goats that left their foul droppings where she could smell them, that disturbed her sleep night after wretched night with their noisy bleating and screaming. She killed a boy's dog when he and his friends came to throw rocks at her hut. She killed his father when he tried to attack her with a length of wood. She killed all the animals in the village, the cats, the dogs, the rats and snakes, and even the one lamb that a little girl kept in place of a pet. She killed them all in her anger, until it exhausted her.

Until they left her alone.

Until even her little sister, the one that fed her through the hole in her door when their mother was dead, was frightened of coming near.

She cried, and raged, and tore all the flowers from the mountain side that her sister once told her were pretty on her rare visits. And then she waited. Stewing in her upset, alone.

Until the Sun came, with his Moon in tow.

Until she laid her hand in his, and felt something she had not felt in two years. Something other than rage, and fear, and sorrow. And she couldn't stop herself from gripping that hand in both of her own, and throwing herself forward. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. Wouldn't let _anyone_ hurt her. She knew it deep in her bones, like the pain she had carved into them herself. The Sun would not hurt her. She could feel him clearly, his arms coming up around her, and every beat of his heart.

He was so tired, and sad, and angry for her. But he cared. He cared so much it _hurt_.

He cared. About her.

 _ **000**_

Newt found them curled up against each other with the first light of the morning, the tiny dark little girl curled into a ball against his golden husband's chest leaning back against the miserable little shack as the Gryffindor watched the sunrise with old eyes.

But he smiled when he saw Newt, and for the first time in ten days, it reached his eyes.

Against his chest, the little girl smiled in her sleep, her dirty grip on the former auror's shirt tightening for a moment.

She was... a beautiful little girl under all the dirt and filth. She looked about six years old, far too thin, with her skin drawn tightly over her bones. Her dark hair a riot of unwashed, semi-matted curls that was likely to be crawling with lice. Her skin was shaded with anaemia, vitamin D deficiency, and flaking with dehydration, her lips were cracked and sore, and – she would need a lot of love and care to recover.

Newt smiled sadly as he knelt down beside his husband, Harry had the love covered, Newt could handle the care.

"Can you put her into a deeper sleep?" Harry asked quietly, running a hand over the thatch of her hair leaving an almost after image of gold to glitter against the dark curls before the shifting black sandstorm of her own magic swallowed it greedily, "I don't want her to wake while we move."

"We aren't staying?" the Hufflepuff asked softly as he withdrew his wand to ease the little girl into a deeper enchanted slumber, her shifting magic slowing as if it too were going to sleep.

The Gryffindor shook his head and, in a feat of surprising athleticism, got to his feet smoothly with the little girl in arm. "Grindelwald is hunting high and low for her, and we left Charlus in the middle of a murder investigation. I'm surprised we haven't had both German _and_ African wizards on our trail. But either way, we should move on," he pointed out as he adjusted his grip on the girl.

Newt nodded, and silently the two of them made their way up the hill to where they had set up their camp. While Harry went into the suitcase in order to tend to the little girl, the Hufflepuff packed up and got onto the Firebolt, intending on flying them northwards. He knew of a healer in Egypt that would treat any child brought in for free.

 _ **000**_

She looked like a six year old, his charms said she was eight.

Harry made sure she remained asleep as he gently went about cleaning her up in their bathroom, thanking the Founders for the Japanese inspired Hufflepuff baths, because if this had been anything like the Gryffindor shower stalls, then he doubted he would have been as able to see to the girl comfortably. In the sunken-in shower stand, he had her laid down with her head on the lip, using a basin of warm water, and a wash cloth going from toes to head. She had a number of open sores and the like that had become infected, so on the lip of the shower, he had also set up his potion's cabinet and was seeing to each and every one of them as he went.

Her infected toe-nails were dipped, filed, and washed healthy again. The scratches on her feet were bathed, rubbed with ointment, wrapped, and then charmed to be water proof. Her groin took a long time due to the urine infection his charms found lurking in her system, coupled with the parasites in her digestive system, the poor thing had a bad case of worms, and some kind of bacterial infection that needed washing out. Not to mention she was caked in about two years of faeces. He made sure she was clean, the urine infection flushed, he would need to give her a potion for the worms so that would wait until she was awake. He ended up having to vanish her hair because it was so coarse and brittle, not to mention full of lice, he used a little of the hair lengthening potion left from his WWW Wonder Witch bag which was thankfully enough to give her some beautiful shoulder length curls once he had treated the painful bites and scratches on her skin from the infestation of lice and fleas.

Everything else would have to wait until she was awake.

Dumping the filthy water and gathering her up in a thick fluffy towel, he threw several cleaning charms over the bathroom, and banished his potion supplies back to where they belonged. A few careful transfiguration charms on a few things that wouldn't be missed, and he had a sleeveless knee-length leaf green cotton dress that he carefully slipped on over her head once she was dried off.

Setting her down in their bed, Harry left the shed as Newt was still flying them northwards right now. He sat down on the steps leading up to an empty enclosure and put his head in his hands.

He had just kidnapped a little girl.

An _Obscurial_.

He had kidnapped an Obscurial, and now he was smuggling her into another country.

If Hermione had any idea... If _Percy_ or _Kingsley_ had any idea...

He laughed helplessly but couldn't picture anything other than the two of them sharing the same expression of horror before they rolled their sleeves up and made sure that not only would Harry not suffer any repercussions about it, but that he would get all the help he needed in making sure the little girl was well taken care of. And then Percy would leave him to Molly's mercy. Not that she would do anything to him beyond smother both him _and_ the little girl in as much love as possible.

Really, that woman...

He pinched his eyes, wiping away the stinging moisture.

Mei chirped on the ground in front of him.

"Hey you," he greeted quietly with a wan smile, "Where have you been?" he asked.

She chirped again, and he felt compassion, patience, and trust. She had been waiting for him, knowing that what he was doing was delicate. He laughed again, feeling tears beginning to gather as she fluttered to his knee and sang reassurance to him. He hadn't meant to disregard or ignore the people important to him. It was just _so. Hard._ He couldn't move too fast, or do too much, or he risked losing her trust and putting them back at Step -minus one. And with her Obscurus, that could very well kill her. There was perhaps only one good point to her current state, her Magical Maturation would be delayed, just like Harry's had. They both of them would suffer from stunted growth, and delayed development. For Harry, that translated to the occasional burst of Accidental Magic well into his teens, not starting puberty properly until his mid-teens, and forever being the shortest of his year group in Gryffindor (even Pavarti was taller than him). For the little girl it would probably be the same. Accidental magic well into her teens, late onset puberty, she may have fertility problems later in life, not to mention the mental health problems – it wasn't like the 1920's had decent therapists.

The best he could do was make sure she knew that she was cared for, that she wasn't alone, that her magic wasn't anything to be ashamed of, or feared. That it could, in fact, bring great joy.

He reached out and gently stroked Mei's head, she was almost back to fully grown now, looking sleek and beautiful, more gold than red, and her magic was strong once more. "I think... I may need your help in the coming days," he told her slowly. The little girl couldn't spend all of her time in physical contact with him, Mei would be essential for keeping her calm and at peace until contact could be re-established. That would likely be the theme of the next few days, if not weeks. It was going to take a long time and a lot of effort before she would feel comfortable leaving his immediate proximity, not to mention be in any company other than his and perhaps Newt.

Then there was the issue of the suitcase.

They had an entirely different world with them, and they had just picked her up and plonked her into the middle of it. For Harry as a child that had been a blessing, a relief, and a sanctuary. For the girl, it could be nothing more than terrifying. Only time would tell. Perhaps it would be best to wait until they made camp and carefully introduce her to the suitcase before taking her inside. Harry had been telling her stories of magic from the first day, but seeing was different to tales, and given how she already possessed a fully matured Obscurus brooding within her, she had nothing but negative feelings towards her magic. They would have to lessen that fear first.

Fear and anger weren't going to disappear in a day. And – he glanced to the leafy seedpod that hung innocently from a near-by overhanging branch, he didn't think the use of a Swooping Evil would do anything but harm. It had tried to slither its long butterfly's tongue in his ear more than once since Newt brought it into the suitcase, even going so far as to creep into the shed under the door one evening. Mei just about pecked its tongue off before they separated the two. They would have to be careful about keeping the girl away from it until they could be certain that it wouldn't try to feed on her – removing the bad memories that caused her to repress her magic could very well permanently damage her and prevent them from ever integrating.

He stroked the phoenix's head, "I should probably keep a record of this," he mused, "The more information gathered, the better the chance we have of saving more children in future if we can identify and find children before their maturation."

She chirped encouragingly, her voice infusing him with a rush of giddy motivation. He chuckled as he scooped her up and got to his feet, settling her onto his shoulder where she made herself comfortable against his neck, under a fall of dark hair.

Re-entering the shed, he checked to make sure the girl was still sleeping peacefully, before rummaging one of Newt's empty journals from a draw and getting started. He took the packet of pictures, autopsy reports, and stuck them into the book, using various charms and a quill to make notes across them, detailing how to identify the attack _as_ an Obscurus, the age, gender, and even the blood status of the attached Obscurial. He wrote a brief overview of his experience, how it changed his magic, what it felt like, the whole downward spiral, and detailed what he knew of child-psychology along with it, how matters of the mind could affect magic and body. He then went into the magical maturation process and the difference between muggle, muggleborn, mixed blood, and pureblood physiology and how that affected the maturation process before comparing them to the three variants of Obscurial he knew – though he had yet to encounter a Pureblood Obscurial. The three he knew of were himself, Ariana, and the little girl at his feet. One muggleborn and two half-bloods. He supposed he could find more records, but how accurate they were...

Shaking the thought off, he began to list just what an Obscurus, and an Obscurial were. Detailed what few cases he knew of, the little boy in Hungary three hundred years ago, a girl in Japan ninety years ago (Or would that be ten years ago? He couldn't remember, best not give a timeframe for that), and of course, both himself, and Ariana, before seguing into introducing the little girl and her circumstances.

Her little goat-hut, removed from the village, her physical state, how long it took for her to trust him in order to leave the hut, and how their magic melded together as it had. He then had to explain why his magic was golden (simply that was the colour it was, as evidenced by the colour that his polyjuice potion would turn), and that upon recovery the dark magic saturated with hurtful feelings would regain the original colour of its magic. As he was the only known survivor of Obscurus, he couldn't be sure if his own awareness of his magic was something other Obscurials would retain or not. Only time, and success, would tell.

It was as he was inscribing his plans to rehabilitate the girl that the ceiling hatch opened up, and Newt's familiar, somewhat dusty boots appeared, closely followed by the rest of his husband looking remarkably windswept and flushed.

Harry smiled at him, it must have looked a little wan, or sad, because a split second later he was being bundled up into a tight hug, his forehead, nose, and mouth kissed tenderly. He sighed in a mix of contentment and happiness as he leaned into his husband, just basking for a time, struck by the realisation that... this was the only person he had done so with. Teddy he would cuddle with for as long as the little boy allowed before he got bored and ran off, Rose he could hold for hours if only Ron and Hermione would let him. But children were different to lovers, the feeling wasn't the same. He wondered what made his relationship with Newt different to the one he used to have with Ginny. That he could lean on the Hufflepuff not just physically but also emotionally like this when before it had taken both Ron and Hermione to shore him up when he began to fall.

He saw Pickett in the corner of his eye, peering out from his little bonsai on their desk, and next to him, the beautiful gleaming silver of the ancient shackles he had worn not so long ago in Galgut's palace.

Ah.

Newt came.

That was why.

Newt came for him, succeeded in getting him out, protected him when he passed out. No one else had. Harry had always been the one to protect others, and it had meant he would forever believe he – he _trusted_ Newt to have his back. The same way he trusted Ron and Hermione.

"I'm sorry," he suddenly said, sighing deeply. "I should have spoken to you before just taking her," the Gryffindor admitted burying his face into the Hufflepuff's chest.

"I understand, Harry. There's nothing to apologise for. I just wish I could help more," Newt admitted, fingers digging into the Gryffindor's hair, Mei peering out through the dark strands to peep at him in greeting before she climbed up his clothing to perch on his shoulder – she liked seeing things from on high, the little madam.

"Still," was the muffled reply from his sternum, "I should have spoken to you before essentially bringing a child into our lives without so much as a by-your-leave," he said, and Newt's heart gave a peculiarly hard thud when, yes, he realised that they were responsible for a _human_ child now. He hadn't – he had never thought of himself as a... guardian, a parent, before. Distant fantasies in his sixth year perhaps, of holidays abroad with Leta and their children, introducing them to weird and wonderful creatures. But they died a swift and silent death at his suspension. He had known that there was no way Harry would be leaving her behind, had not even considered it a possibility for a split second. They were going to be leaving with the child, he had known that, it was why he had already begun work on expanding the shed, adjusting the enchantment layers to give them a bit more of a living space than just his little shed where he stored his bed beneath his desk. Hardly appropriate for a child. And he was honestly surprised that Harry hadn't noticed the modifications he had placed upon it already.

He chuckled a little, "I already knew we would be taking her," he admitted, gently rubbing the back of the Gryffindor's neck, "You are not the most unpredictable of creatures in regards to children, darling."

Harry made a reluctant noise of agreement.

"Do you know her name?" the Hufflepuff asked after a while of silence.

"Mmm, Amira. If she were a normal muggle girl, I would consider changing her name, help her distance herself from the abuse before she comes to accept it. But given the nature of Obscurus, that would definitely cause more harm than good, the separating of name and emotional distance might very well develop into a full blown Multiple Personality Disorder with the Obscurus becoming Amira, and the girl becoming a squib by her new name. It's delicate," Harry explained, nuzzling against him tiredly.

Newt hummed, shifting his grip on Harry's neck and adding a hand, trying to work away the knotted tension he could feel twisting in the Gryffindor's shoulders and neck.

"It's a pretty name," he said at length, "It would be a shame to give it up now. It's one of the few things that are _hers_. Her family couldn't steal it away, and she shouldn't let them."

Harry twitched against him with a grunt of discomfort as his thumbs worked loose a particularly uncomfortable muscle, "Spite fuelled recovery," he concluded, hissing between his teeth as Newt found another tight muscle and began to work on it, "That could work. It would reintroduce her to negative emotions in a safe manner without running the risk of triggering the Obscurus. But on the other hand that's a delic- _ah_ -te rope to walk. Ow," he complained a little half-heartedly.

Newt kissed the top of his head in apology and went back to work as Harry continued to think out loud on how best to help... their ward? Well, for now she was. The Mythozoologist looked down at his husband in fond exasperation, more than likely she would wind up becoming their daughter before long. Harry loved children, caring for them, teaching them, he often wondered why the man hadn't become a teacher at Hogwarts instead of an Auror as he knew the man would have loved it more, and been very good at it too. There was very little chance of the Gryffindor leaving her at an Orphanage, or allowing a Pureblood family to adopt her, he was too wary of relapses, of other people and their intentions. He didn't trust very easily.

No, the little girl, Amira, would be staying with them.

Newt wondered how his mother felt about grandchildren, and tried not to laugh or grimace, at her reaction when he returned with an eight year old to accompany his unknown husband.

 _ **0000**_

 **Hehehehe, welcome to parenthood.**


	29. Chapter 29

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Twenty Nine**

Her name was Amira.

She had forgotten it in the two years she had been locked away.

Her name was Amira.

A-mee-rah.

Amerah. Ah-mee-rah.

Her father had named her, she remembered now. She was his eldest daughter, his only daughter at the time. The only daughter amongst four brothers. Amira. Four older brothers, herself, her youngest brother, and then her little sister. The oldest girl of seven children. Ah- _me_ -rah.

It meant Princess.

She killed him.

He named her his Princess and she killed him.

He died screaming.

She... Didn't know how to feel about that anymore.

 _ **000**_

The world passed in a daze, in a too bright blur of colour and light that _hurt_ , that she hated as much as she relished. She didn't know where she was, just that it was _far_ away from the village, where none of them could ever hurt her again, she was with the Sun and the Moon called Harry and Newt. She knew she should have been scared of them, they were strange pale men, like the demons in the stories the old man in the white robes used to tell.

But they were _so kind_. So kind and gentle with her. She had a pretty dress, the colour of green grass, and the scarf one of the ladies used to wear sent to her from her sister in the city. Harry turned _golden_ when she was near, and she could _feel_ him whenever she touched him, her darkness melting into his light. She could feel how tired and sad he was, how much he cared, how much he wanted to help her, to make her happy, could _feel_ it like a physical pain in her chest that made her eyes sting until he gathered her against his chest, winding his arms around her, smelling of herbs and animals and sweat, letting her sob into his shoulder until she slept. She felt so _safe_ with him. With _them_. Because even though the Moon, Newt, didn't turn into light when she came near, even though she couldn't feel what he felt when she touched him, she could feel how much the Sun _loved_ him whenever he came near, could feel how happy the tall man with his strangely patterned pale skin made him.

The Moon was gentle, and sweet, and seemed so scared of hurting her. At first she thought he didn't like her, at first she thought he believed her dirty. But when nightmares shook her awake, and Harry was not there, it was Newt who came immediately to her sleeping bag, that held her as she sobbed, and her magic churned like a stomach ache inside of her. Soft words she couldn't understand as long, hot fingers stroked up her back, and cradled her as if she were something precious again.

She liked him.

She liked them both, and she knew they liked her too.

She didn't want to leave.

Her days were so bright now, so full of life.

Harry explained that he used to be a police officer for people with powers like theirs, he was supposed to catch bad men and women who used their powers to hurt people. It had been like her mind tripped up, like it hiccupped, because surely that meant she would catch her? But... had he not already done just that? She asked what would happen to her now, and he knew _immediately_ what she meant. Was she going to go to jail, was she going to be punished for killing her parents, the animals in the village, those people?

' _No, sweetheart, you were very frightened and your magic tried to protect you. It does that. Mine did it too, in just the same way. That's why I'm here, so I can help you the way that no one ever did for me. I'm not going to arrest you for protecting yourself,_ ' he had promised, holding her close. She wanted to tell him that she hadn't always done it to protect herself, sometimes she had done it because she could, because she was angry, and sad, and they had hurt her. But...

Somehow she thought he knew. And that he didn't care.

Newt looked for animals, to learn about them, so he could teach other people about them later. And then he introduced her to a little black creature called Moriarty, something that was apparently called a niffler.

He didn't seem as keen on her as she was on him as he grudgingly let her pet his head, grumbling unhappily before skittering away once he'd had enough. ' _No doubt to steal something shiny,_ ' Harry had repeated in her own language as Newt shot off after the little creature before it got too far.

They walked, and walked, and she saw _so much_ , the world was so _big_ out of her village, out of her hut.

She saw flowers in colours she hadn't even known existed.

Watched in awe from under Harry's arm, in their little tent, as the sky flashed and snarled with power, lightning that used to terrify her streaking across the sky in dizzying _beautiful_ bursts of light she could now see. The way a sunrise looked after a storm, all pinks and greens, and diamond dewdrops. She watched birds wheeling overhead, and was allowed to run and run and _run_ because Harry could always find her and she never had to fear getting lost. She ran until her legs failed and she had to be carried, exhausted and aching, back to their ever moving little camp.

She had to drink gross tasting 'potions' to help her stomach, and after a while she stopped being so itchy and uncomfortable. It stopped hurting to go to the bathroom, and she was even allowed to use a cloth to clean herself up afterwards.

She got to wear what she wanted, no matter what it was. Even when she hesitantly asked for trousers one day, because they were the same thing that Harry and Newt wore and she wanted to do it too, because they looked much more practical than her dresses that kept getting caught on the bushes as they hiked. She got soft new shoes, and cool drinks, and hugs, and before long, Harry sat her down and began to teach her how to read and write and count, all things she had never been able to do but wanted to, distantly in her dreams of before.

She remembered wanting to be a dentist.

She had forgotten what a dentist was.

And then, she was allowed to go into the suitcase.

 _ **000**_

Harry was nervous about taking Amira into the case. They'd been caring for her for the last six weeks, hiking slowly up towards Egypt figuring that whatever wizards that may have been following them, or whatever followers of Grindelwald that may have gone looking for her, would not have anticipated them using muggle methods of travel. It was a gamble, but thus far one that seemed to have been paying off.

Amira had been coming along quite nicely, there had been next to no relapses or hiccups which made Harry exceptionally nervous as he would have expected at least _one_ by now. But no. Amira seemed to only need to lay her hand on him before she calmed down. She was a worrying mix of clingy and eager to please that had frazzled him considerably in the beginning, and given how she could feel his emotions whenever she laid hands on him, it wasn't – sometimes he had to leave Newt to handle her while he took some time to just _breathe_ elsewhere. He felt wretched doing it, especially when he could hear her sobbing and wailing herself back to sleep against Newt's side but... it wasn't fair for her to feel his frustration and anxiety when it wasn't her fault. Thankfully Newt understood.

On those evenings when Harry was of sound enough mind and emotion to handle Amira's night-terrors, Newt would be in the case expanding their home, making more space. The suitcase entrance now opened into a small porch area with two doors, the porch itself had both of Harry's brooms, their cloaks, shoes, muggle coats, and a few leashes for whatever creatures they took outside. And, of course, a perch for Mei so she could wait for them should she so desire.

One door lead into Newt's shed, as expected. The door that once lead into their bathroom was now the one into the porch, the bed under his desk had been removed, it was a little bigger now, with more windows to let in more light, he had also made some further efforts to include more plants and now had hanging baskets from his ceiling, and a shelving unit filled with potted plants and soil trays where he was growing more, and on the bottom shelf was a tank of water which had already begun to cultivate some gillyweed. It now also had several locks on the door that lead into the creature enclosures, for Amira's safety, and theirs.

The other door in the porch lead into their new home. Harry imagined it must have looked somewhat like Newt's childhood home given the look of it – it was, not to Newt's usual tastes. The wide hallway was a clean pearl white colour with a single trim of peacock and emerald green in delicate swirls and eddies that mimicked water. The ceiling was high, with moulded white arches above each handsome walnut coloured door. There were two opposite each other, and one at the end of the corridor with a white staircase possessing walnut coloured railings to the left. Through the door on the left was the familiar bathroom they had created, still with the two shower heads, and the large sunken in bath-tubs, several shelves to the right with baskets and towels, frosted windows giving the room a lot of light, while plants and moss made it feel natural, and less open and vulnerable. Through the door on the right was a small living room, a few sofas, a fire place, an armchair, a coffee table, and a thick plush teal coloured carpet. It was somewhat impersonal, but Newt had made an effort to change that by putting a handful of pictures above the fireplace, and chucking one of the blankets they picked up in Tibet over the back of the sofa. At the end of the corridor was the kitchen, and that was going to be undisputedly Harry's domain within their new home as Newt still wasn't one-hundred percent in the kitchen (he was learning! He could make pancakes now!).

Upstairs was three rooms, one was a little small, with warm yellow walls, and a white and pink bed, white furniture and a big window that overlooked the mooncalf enclosure. Harry remembered kissing Newt senseless when he saw how much effort he had put into that little room, from the yellow walls that had little white phoenix flying across it, the white ceiling that was enchanted to show the stars overhead and provide just enough light that she would never be blind in the dark ever again, the pink bed, the white dresser and chair, and wardrobe, painted with purple, yellow, and pink flowers, and the pale pink carpetted floor. And the stuffed toy set on her pillow, a simple chocolate brown teddy bear with a pink ribbon.

The other room was an office for Harry, Newt had left that one empty for the most part, aside from ensuring there would be ample light and that the walls were a soothing pale blue, the carpet thick and plush grey, and that the window looked out over the aviary, Harry had been left with a free reign in there. He would fill it later though, when he had time.

The final room was their bedroom, a large double bed, two bedside tables, a huge window, and two wardrobes, one for each of them. The floor was a whiskey yellow-brown, and a little less thick than Amira's, the walls were a warm biscuit colour, the furniture dark oak in hard lines. The bed was sturdy with a large slatted headboard, and lower slatted footboard, white pillows and a dark wine red cover and a thick fluffy white blanket draped over the foot of it. Their wardrobes faced opposite each other, Harry could see his trunk set on top of his own, and Moriarty hiding under Newt's. The niffler looked long and hard at him, and then scuttled back even deeper under the heavy piece of furniture to avoid sight.

Harry was sure Amira would love her room, but he was concerned about how she would react to the animal enclosures, and the fact they had all of this in a suitcase. It would be difficult for even most Purebloods to accept all this in a bloody handheld, Harry found it a little easier because of Hermione, but even she would be astonished by all this. The Gryffindor was sorely tempted to bring it up at the Ministry to see if he couldn't push for a recognition in Charms Mastery for Newt, it would definitely get his name a lot more attention and credibility for when he published his book – meaning people would take his words more seriously. There weren't any Masteries in care of magical creatures at this particular moment in time, which meant that if Newt had the Charms Mastery under his belt then it would only be a short amount of time before one was made _specifically_ for him. That meant better funding, more interest, and more leeway for their next trip, perhaps special dispensation from various Ministries to study in restricted areas.

He shook himself, dragging his attention back to the present, and the fact that they had stopped to make camp again that evening – a camp that would not be set up beyond charms to protect the suitcase. Tonight they would be sleeping in actual beds. Harry's back couldn't wait, the rest of him however was still anxious.

"Poppet _, come here a moment,_ " Harry called, he had somehow gotten into the habit of calling Amira the same nickname he had once heard Molly calling little Rose. It must have kind of stuck in the back of his head as a sweet thing to call a little girl. Amira didn't object, and Harry tried a lot to use her actual name to prevent any disassociation, but sometimes he slipped. Newt sometimes called her babydoll, and went red whenever he did, looking away very quickly as if embarrassed. Which, well, given how it had nearly a year before he called Harry by anything but his name, it was somewhat understandable.

Amira bounced over, her curly black hair haloing her face in copper and mahogany highlights. She had filled out considerably in the six weeks since she joined them, no longer looking like a famine victim, she had gained some weight, but not nearly enough for Harry's taste. She was definitely happier though. The last time they had touched, he saw a spark of something pale, and a little blue amidst the churning black – a good sign, a very good sign. Her magic was regaining its original colour. Once she was half-way there, they were going to have to – and he hated to do it – take her back a step. Reopen the old wounds and talk it out, help her come to terms with what happened properly so it wouldn't _shatter_ her by accident when she was older. Such a thing would mean instant death. Once that happened, it would be easier to help her recover, completely.

"Amira, _remember when I told you Newt's suitcase was special?_ " he asked gently, kneeling down in front of her. She nodded as she crowded in close, wrapping her arms around him, their skin automatically beginning to mist with magic. Harry shivered, feeling her happiness, curiosity, and now a little confusion and anxiousness as she picked up on his own trepidation. " _He finished fixing it up for us yesterday. Inside is a whole house for us to stay in._ "

She eyed him sceptically, but she couldn't feel him lying, he was just scared though.

" _Are there monsters inside?_ " she asked warily, and twitched when she felt his anxiety spike.

" _Of a sort. But they won't be able to get you, they aren't allowed in the house,_ " Harry promised as he got to his feet, scooping her up and putting her on his hip, it looked a little comical given how short he was. But Amira liked it when he picked her up and carried her. " _Newt told you he was studying special animals, yeah? Well sometimes we find ones that are hurt, or lost, so we put them in the case so we can take care of them. And when they're all better, we put them back home. There's lot's of animals in the case now, some of them are friendly, but some of them aren't. But we still take care of them. They can't get into the house, except maybe Moriarty, Pickett, and Dougal. You remember them, yeah? Good, they're nice animals if you're nice to them,_ " Harry explained softly as he walked slowly to the suitcase as Newt finished laying his wards and enchantments around it.

Amira gripped him tightly, feeling a sudden sick sensation in her stomach, " _Are you going to put me in a hut with them?_ " she whispered.

" _No_ Poppet _, you're going to live in the house with us, and have your own bedroom and everything. Newt made it especially for you,_ " Harry told her soothingly, he was upset that she thought they would ever do something like that but he supposed it was natural. She likely never thought her parents would do such a thing either, and yet here they were.

"Ready?" Newt asked eagerly, he wanted to see her reaction to her new room, and Harry hadn't the heart to tell him what her initial reaction had been.

Harry looked at the little girl who nibbled her lower lip before nodding slowly. Harry set her down on her feet, and went first. Stopping on the middle of the ladder so she could see him and wouldn't fall down the, admittedly steep, ladder-like steps. Her dark eyes practically dominating her face, she reached out for Newt's freely offered hand, and gripped it tightly as she carefully lowered herself into Harry's waiting grasp.

She gasped when she looked around, a whole room in such a tiny suitcase? And she was going to live here?

Newt was all smiles as he jumped in after her, by-passing the steps all together. He babbled excitedly, words completely lost through the language barrier, but she smiled none the less at his clear excitement and happiness. " _He says he spent a long time making it, he wanted to make you feel comfortable so he based it on his own home, when he grew up with his mother,_ " Harry explained gently as the Hufflepuff eagerly held a hand out for the little girl.

They whizzed through the house, showing the little girl everything including how to use the bathroom, and the modern plumbing in the little toilet that she had never seen the like of before in her young life.

She burst into tears when she saw her room, overwhelmed and exhausted from the day's travelling, she just broke down and clung to Newt's shirt saying that she had a room, over and over. Poor Newt looked horrified, worried that he'd upset her. Silly sod. Harry kissed him and promised that she loved it, _and_ her little teddybear. Eventually Amira cried herself out, and the three of them went downstairs to have a quick dinner, the little girl clinging to both Newt and her new teddy with a deathgrip that neither wizard cared to try and break. She decided to name it Mor, for reasons none of them knew, but she liked the sound of it, so that was that. Mor the bear it was.

The first night in their new home, while Harry and Newt christened their new bed, the young Obscurial slept without nightmares for the first time.

 _ **000**_

The next day, Newt showed her his shed, Harry at his elbow explaining everything in her own language as he showed her where the medicines were, just in case she ever needed anything and neither of them were around. Mei was perched on her shoulder, the two having taken a great liking to each other when Amira woke up that morning to the little firebird singing on her headboard.

With the phoenix keeping the young girl calm, they very hesitantly introduced her to the rest of the enclosures. They started with the benign animals, showing her how to feed the crups and the kneazles, all of whom seemed very curious about this new human. They were, at first, wary of her when they got a sniff of her Obscurus, which was fairly normal Harry had found as most animals took some time to warm up to even him whenever they got a whiff of that, but then they seemed to develop some kind of attachment to her in short order. Also, fairly common. It took a while, but most magical creatures tended to get over the initial wariness to become protective of any creature with damaged magic like that, Harry had seen a bowtruckle forming one such protective bond over a severely abused crup on an auror raid over a puppy-mill in a muggle property that had managed to find a few crups. Non-magical animals often never did get over that initial wariness, sometimes even becoming more hostile. Which _definitely_ explained Ripper's behaviour given how Harry had never actually been aggressive towards him, even when they first met Harry had given the dog his space, and even fed him, so by all rights Harry should have been his second bestfriend in the house. Yet Ripper hated him the most.

Dougal had already taken to her quite nicely, and when they were reintroduced, the demiguise wasted little time in digging his long fingers into the girl's hair to check her for parasites, stroking gently through the dark curls as she giggled.

Thus far, things had been going well.

Harry sincerely hoped it would continue to do so. But he brewed eight cauldrons of combat potions as well. Just in case.

 _ **0000**_

 **(flop) I honestly don't know how to handle Amira. I'm hand-waving a lot of her recovery by going 'magical connection when she touches Harry, there's no trust issues because of that, she's always certain of where she stands with him'. Newt can't help too much because he doesn't speak Arabic and Amira doesn't speak English, Harry's starting to teach her though.**

 **So yeah, sorry about the shitty chapter. I just wanted something OUT.**


	30. Chapter 30

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Thirty**

In the end, it wasn't Amira that relapsed.

It was Harry.

He had fallen asleep, Amira tucked up under his arm, reading to her on the couch in their living room, now looking much more lived in once Harry copied the nesting habits he recalled from both Molly, Ginny, and even his Aunt Petunia and started putting pictures up, knickknacks here and there, and a shelving unit of fiction books, and anything they were using for Amira's education on the bottom shelves. Newt had been both confused but also semi-delighted by the change, and the new multitude of blankets and cushions that had been transfigured and conjured into the room.

Somehow, in his sleep, the little weight at his side became the sticky wet weight of Dobby. His hands gripping at Harry's fingers desperately, begging him to help, to save him, he didn't like his new Master, he didn't like Death. Couldn't Harry Potter Sir save him again, trick Death like his ancestors had and free Dobby? Please, _please_!

Blood was welling up around the knife in his chest, the serpents wrapped around the handle hissing recriminations and damnations about his actions, about how many people died while he was flailing around in a forest doing not much of anything, how many people had died, been sent to Azkaban, and where was he? Where _was_ he? In a tent. In a tent, wasting his time arguing with Ron, wearing a goddamn piece of Voldemort's soul instead of putting it in a warded box and locking it up in Hermione's bag where it couldn't influence them, leaving Voldemort in charge of the Ministry – Harry had disembodied him once, he could do so again, scatter the Death Eaters, give them another ten years in order to find the other Horcrux and deal with them before going for Voldemort himself at long last. He could have done so much more, he _should_ have done so much more – and now Dobby was dead and it was his fault. Death would take everyone close to him, and torment them for the presumed arrogance of his ancestors for thinking that anyone could truly be a _master_ of death.

Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes in the darkness, offering to take the burden from him in one bloodstained hand, all the while offering his very soul to Death itself. Because Harry had _always_ been both shield and sword to the old man. The sword to strike down Voldemort, and the shield against his own past mistakes.

It was no coincidence that Harry's childhood mirrored Tom Riddle's so closely.

Nature vs Nurture.

He had to be sure that it was in Voldemort's Nature, not in the Nurture Albus abandoned him to. Harry was to be the proof of Voldemort's inborn, inescapable, evil. The genetic _rot_ of the Slytherin line.

Everything was rotting. Dumbledore's face, his flesh turning grey and green, drooping and fraying, skin and flesh _slopping_ from bone, Dobby rotting in his arms, Hermione and Ron in the darkness, staring at him with empty eyesockets, skeletal fingers reaching out towards him.

Someone was screaming.

He woke with a start into a _sandstorm_ of black and gold. To Amira screaming into his chest, thrashing fit to hurt herself, the couch beneath them in shredded tatters, and Newt – his hands up over his eyes, knelt in front of them, practically cringing as he tried to get closer but couldn't under the magical onslought.

Harry grabbed the reigns of his control and _yanked_ his magic to bear.

With an almost audible snap in the air, he cut the chaos to nothing, dragged his magic back under his skin, and pinned Amira's own thrashing magic, her Obscurus, against himself. She woke with a strangled wail, her eyes wide and wet, her hands desperately grasping at his shirt, and a moment later Newt swept them both up in his patched and _scorched_ arms.

"Newt," Harry rasped in horror. His husband's skin had turned grey, it cracked and flaked like dry mud, like _ash_ , bloodless and white in places, with deep _black_ scars. His face looked like a shattered mirror, his lips white and cracked, his freckles all but gone under the skin damage, his clothing was shredded and blood spotted, and Harry felt his breath catch when he felt just how _cold_ the Hufflepuff was through his clothing.

Amira whimpered, her eyes wide as she looked between the two of them.

Harry moved to get up but Newt tightened his grip, "I'm fine, I'm fine," he promised, voice hoarse and catching a little, but he smiled and hugged them both, bundling them up in his lap amongst their blankets and pressed a kiss to Harry's face, "I'm fine."

"No, you're – you could have – Newt, never do that again!" Harry yelped, eyes wide with fear, "Out of control Obscurus magic can _kill_! You're – fuck we nearly _did_ kill – " Newt kissed his lips, stopping him mid-sentence.

"But you didn't. Now calm down. I'm fine," the Hufflepuff said again. And received identical looks of fear and frustration from the pair in his lap, from his husband who was still a little misty around the edges with golden magic, to his daughter with her shadowy pale dove grey magic that flickered with star-bursts of white and blue. He laughed and leaned down to kiss her forehead, and felt her arms wriggle their way free of the blankets to wrap around him – and pin his arms.

She turned to babble something to Harry who nodded with a serious expression and a proud gleam in his eye before he slithered free of them.

"Ah?" Newt moved to snatch him back, but Amira expertly shifted in that way all small children could to get herself in the way and prevent him from dragging his husband back into his lap. He pouted at the little girl, contemplating whether or not he should just pick her up and follow, and received a very _familiar_ stubborn glare that made his lips twitch against his will. "Are _you_ alright, babydoll?" he asked the little girl, stroking her hair.

She tilted her head, not completely understanding him but she nodded anyway, and glanced up as Harry bustled back into the living room with his healing kit floating along in his wake.

Newt grimaced, "I don't look that bad, do I?" he asked – and found a mirror being conjured in front of him.

Both of his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

No wonder the both of them were so concerned.

"I can promise you, I do not feel as bad as I look," he told the pair, banding one arm around Amira and smoothly getting to his feet, only for Harry to promptly shove him back down with a scowl.

"I will be the judge of that, Newton Scamander," he bit out with flashing green eyes. Wisely, Newt subsided. Given how he looked, the concern was to be expected. The sooner Harry could check him out and allay his own fears, the sooner Newt could get back to making sure the two of them were alright after their scare.

 _ **000**_

Somehow, by some _miracle_ of magic or _whatever_ , Newt really was unharmed. The damage to his skin was purely cosmetic, and took a single cleaning charm and light healing potion to put to rights. There were a few deeper cuts, and as Harry cleaned them he could feel the faint buzz of magic against his fingertips, and fought not to flinch.

That was Amira's magic.

Somehow, even in the absolute _storm_ of their combined magic, his own had recognised the Hufflepuff and shielded him from the worst of Amira's undirected desperate violence as she sought to try and protect them both from his nightmares, from the memories of old pain that reverberated through him and into her. She felt his pain, the betrayal he felt at Dumbledore's fingers, the horror and pain of being the Boy Who Lived in a time of war, of Dobby's death, of _dying_ – and somehow, against all odds, instead of her recovery regressing, she lunged forward _months_ ahead of Harry's projections.

Her magic was no longer black and silty, like ever shifting sand and mud in filthy pond-water. It was still subdued and dark with fear and anger, and a little gritty with hurt, but every now and again, they caught a glimpse of pure unsullied white-blue. Tiny starbursts of pale light that bled away like water colour. Her magic was such a beautiful colour. If she wished, she could become a powerful Healer.

Such thinking was for later though.

Harry was still shaken from the nightmare, from the relapse, and he had every intention of escaping out of the case – only to get dragged back into a tangle of blankets into his husband's lap, Amira quickly occupying his legs as she rearranged the blankets, and Mei landing on the back of the sofa to trill reprimandingly at him, puffing herself up and stomping one little clawed foot as he looked up at her.

"Newt – " the Gryffindor began to object, trying to untangle himself.

The mythozoologist caught his hands and brought them up, kissing his fingertips and tightening his arms around the two in his lap, "Accidents happen," the Hufflepuff told him softly, pressing his nose into the back of Harry's neck, "Injuries happen. What I do isn't exactly safe, love, I knew that when I started, and I continued anyway. I've known since the beginning that you were dangerous. Don't think that I'm going to reject you because of one accident. If we didn't have a little one so determined to make sure you were alright to, I would be considerably more proactive in tying you down and demonstrating," he explained loftily, stroking his thumb across the inside of Harry's wrist as he shifted them all a little to bracket the Gryffindor and their young charge between the sofa and his bent knee – preventing him from escaping.

Harry grunted a little, twisting his head to look Newt in the eye, "It might not just be one though, it could happen again," he warned quietly, trying _not_ to think about what his husband just offered because really, Amira was currently feeding off his emotions right now, she did not need to be exposed to _those_ kinds of desires at her age!

Newt kissed his cheek, "What will happen, will happen. And we will deal with it when it does. Until then, we'll take what steps we can to prevent it from happening again. But you are still not going anywhere until I am certain you aren't going to vanish into the wilderness and blame yourself for this."

"But it was my fault. If I hadn't had that nightmare – "

The Hufflepuff shifted and shut him up with a kiss to the mouth, he kept it chaste because of their audience, but if Harry continued to argue he might have to put her into Dougal's care for a while.

"What was it you said in China? ' _Shit happens_ '?" he asked, making the Gryffindor snort mirthfully against his will. "We'll just have to stop napping on the sofa. Which I have told you off for doing before now anyway. It's bad for your back," the Hufflepuff reminded him, and felt very pleased with himself when his husband groaned and dropped his head back in frustration, already protesting that he wasn't _that_ old, thank you!

Amira giggled as she listened to them, and felt the warm thrum of gratitude and love in Harry's magic.

 _ **000**_

They reached Egypt in another three weeks, Amira's recovery speeding ahead as they travelled. Enough so that Harry eventually had his sit down with her to discuss what happened in her past.

Like he predicted, she broke, and lashed out. Falling into her Obscurus, and attacking him.

It took her an hour to wear herself out, and by the time she rematerialised, Harry was sweaty and a little winded from dodging her up and down the grasslands. She had been properly horrified and immediately burst into tears when she realised what she had done, and just like Newt had for him, Harry didn't give her a chance to withdraw or recoil from him or from her mistakes. He bundled her up in blankets and hugs, and the two continued to talk.

Amira's magic was now closer to white than black, a pale dove grey instead of a dirty concrete grey.

Then they met the childrens' healer that Newt knew from the war.

 _ **000**_

Healer Sudesh Walid lived in a modest eight roomed complex in the heart of Cairo that he used as his healing practice, and was known (charmed) to the local muggles as a holiday destination so popular it was always booked solid. It made explaining the comings and goings of various families all the more easy with that excuse in mind as both Harry, Newt, and Amira made their way into the pale square building with its handsome wooden panels and windows.

Healer Walid was a jovial man, once rotund, but now thin from stress and overwork, he had seemingly lost none of his cheer as he exclaimed gleefully at the sight of his old friend, making his way across the open garden with his arms outstretched for a hug that Newt somewhat awkwardly returned with a ducked head and a crooked smile of shy embarrassment. As if he were still somewhat taken aback that someone thought well of him.

"Scamander, my friend! Welcome, welcome, and whom are your lovely friends?" Healer Walid asked, winking at Amira who shyly hid behind Harry's leg, and casting a very appreciative eye over the Gryffindor who arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

"Sudesh, this is my husband, Harry – " Newt began, only to have his friend exclaim loudly in happiness, and immediately sweep forward to crush Harry in a hug as well, not that the Gryffindor allowed it, lifting a hand to firmly plant it against the man's chest and keep him out of grabbing range. "He's a former auror, and not too fond of being hugged, I'm afraid," the Hufflepuff explained with an apologetic smile, "The young lady is Amira, she recently came into our care after we took her from her muggle family. Would you be willing to check her over? Harry and I have done what we can, but neither of us are healers."

Walid hummed, casting a suspicious look at Harry for that, "I was under the impression, that all aurors were required to take and _pass_ a healing course," he stated, rubbing his somewhat sagging chin.

"And you would be correct," Harry interjected smoothly, "However, I am no paediatrician. Not only that, but my healing magics are broken, I've been hit with a few too many unpleasant dark curses. I get by with potions, charms, and muggle medicine, but we are not willing to risk Amira's health on just that. Her situation is... delicate."

"Delicate," Walid echoed seriously, before smiling and gesturing them towards the stairs, "Then we shall discuss it in my sitting room with tea. Tell me, have you had lunch yet?" he asked as he began to guide them.

"No, I'm afraid not. We came straight here once we arrived," Newt explained amiably as he scooped Amira up into his arms. Normally it would have been Harry doing so, but neither of them particularly wanted to advertise their _unique_ circumstances just yet, especially outside the privacy of Healer Walid's wards.

"My sister, you remember her yes, Scamander? My sister does a most _excellent_ curry, if you are interested. She has been experimenting most enthusiastically in the kitchen, and with the increased trade after the Great War, she has been having the _time_ of her life with all the new spices and fruits and nuts she can now stuff into our larder. I have become quite partial to her coconut rice," Healer Walid confided enthusiastically as they made their way down one of the corridors to a set of double wooden doors, intricately carved and possessing tiny daubs of paint here and there. The room he lead them into was pleasantly large, and smelt heavily of incense and spices, beautiful tapestries covered the walls, all of the furniture was a matching walnut brown with pale padding. Books and reference texts decorated a lot of the surfaces, and a cockatiel croaked at them from a perch in the corner, letter dangling from one leg.

Healer Walid huffed when he saw it, "Excuse me a moment, my mother in law – you know how it is," he said before bustling over to take the paper and shoo the cockatiel back out of the window while the three of them found somewhere to sit amidst the piles of books and papers. Healer Walid tucked the letter away and then seemed to realise what kind of state his office was, "Ah, yes, my apologies, I so rarely have friends to visit, let me just – " he flicked a surprisingly stumpy pale wand in a figure of eight, sending all the books back into their places on the shelving units, and whisking all the papers back into their appropriate files and back into the patient cabinets where they too belonged.

Amira clapped her hands enthusiastically, " _Will I be able to do that someday?_ " she asked excitedly, craning her head up to see the underside of Newt's jaw from where she was still in his lap – largely to prevent her from crawling into Harry's.

" _Yes, Poppet. When you get a wand of your own,_ " Harry answered kindly, smiling gently.

" _And when will that be?_ " she demanded, shifting from side to side in Newt's lap to better face him, heedless to the brief cringe on the Hufflepuff's face as her bony backside crushed something rather delicate.

" _If my friend sends you to the same school as he did, then eleven years old, my dear,_ " Healer Walid answered cheerfully, " _Now hush, child, I must speak with your parents._ " Obediently she fell quiet, and Harry debated correcting the Healer for a moment before shrugging it off, they may as well be to be perfectly honest. There was little to no chance he was letting her go now, she was his, his and Newt's, and he would fight to keep it that way.

"You said her situation was delicate, would you care to elaborate, Scamander?" Healer Walid asked, summoning a notepad and a muggle fountain pen from his desk.

Newt sighed and glanced to Harry who gestured him onwards, "It is... We found Amira – she is muggleborn, her family did not take her magic well and locked her away. When we found her, ignoring the mental health problems, she was infested with lice, fleas, and parasites, both internal and external. She was malnourished, dehydrated, absolutely filthy. She had multiple infections, abrasions, lesions, sores, ulcers, her skin had cracked in places, it was flaking, and she was thin, so _awfully_ thin. As bad as some of those poor souls coming out of India," Newt explained, stroking a hand down her hair sadly. "Harry took over a week to coax her out of that goat hut. He cleaned her up, vanished her hair, cleaned all of her wounds, gave her a purgative to remove all the internal parasites and infections, regrew her hair. We're still working on her mental health, but we just wanted to be certain about her physical health. I remembered you mentioning how you were a specialist in _child care,_ and, well, you were only a short distance away. I hope it isn't an imposition..."

Healer Walid waved his concern off, "No imposition, old friend. I am pleased you remembered so much of our short deployment together, flattered even that you would look to me in an hour of need such as this. Even if I am somewhat aggrieved that you are _still_ tripping into mischief and trouble at the drop of a hat. Tell me, _has_ he been keeping out of trouble?" the man asked, looking expectantly at Harry who snorted, arms folded, leaning back on the little sofa.

"Not in the slightest," he admitted mirthfully, grinning a little at the wounded look his husband gave him, "But I'm just as bad, if not worse, so I can hardly blame him."

Healer Walid scoffed, waving a hand in bitter amusement, "You deserve each other," he decided shortly before setting his notes aside and getting to his feet, "May I examine our little patient?" he asked, looking between the two.

Newt looked at Harry who narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly, "Yes. But be aware, you move in a fashion I dislike..." he trailed off warningly.

"Do you think you could catch me? I was quite the fighter in the war," the healer pointed out playfully, a note of seriousness in his eyes.

Newt squinted, looking between the two in confusion. Was this some kind of pissing contest? He expected Harry to be a little standoffish and protective, but this was a little... it was _almost_ hostile, and Sudesh was normally the type to laugh it off, but he seemed to take it seriously this time. What was going on? Or was it because Sudesh could tell that Harry would _actually_ follow through on his promise, rather than those old soldiers they used to deal with who were all hot air and full of pain-aggression?

"I'm sure you were. But she is our daughter, and she has been hurt enough," Harry stated flatly, his eyes narrowing sharply.

Sudesh tilted his head, "Even though she is black?" he asked pointedly, and twitched back, eyes widening, at the purely _animal_ growl Harry snarled out at him.

" _Harry?_ " Amira asked fearfully, looking between the two as she huddled up against Newt's chest.

" _It's fine, Poppet, the doctor asked a question I didn't like. He has not done anything wrong. I am just... annoyed that he would consider it,_ " the Gryffindor explained casting her a soft smile. " _He seemed to think the difference in our skin would change my mind about your being in our family._ "

Amira wrinkled her nose in affront, " _Mei is_ red _and she's a member of the family! And Dougal is silver! Pickett is_ green _! Why would brown not be allowed?_ " she protested indignantly.

Healer Walid laughed and held his hands out, palm up, " _Enough, enough, your point is made. I beg your forgiveness, I spoke in error,_ " he said with a wry depreciating smile, " _I encounter many English and American men these days, and while I am glad to see not all are so, far too many hold the colour of their flesh as a badge of authority to do as they will._ " He shook his head in bitter remembrance before smiling and kneeling down in front of the couch, " _May I cast some spells to check you over, my dear? Your parents are worried that they may have missed something._ "

Amira glanced to Harry who nodded, she bit her lower lip, staring at the man in front of her with large eyes before nodding, " _Alright._ "

Healer Walid nodded smiling, and carefully flicked his wand over the young girl, making sure his gestures were clearly visible to the green eyed man that made a cold sweat bead on the back of his neck. Sudesh was not a faint of heart individual, it was impossible to be so when one worked as a healer in the Great War, but never the less, this tiny slip of a wizard was dangerous in a way he had only ever encountered one other man to be, and that was not a soul he wished to see personally ever again.

And then he registered what his spells were telling him.

Reflex had him throwing himself backwards away from the – away as quickly as possible, he ended up crashing into the table and throwing everything aside with a yell that had the two idiots in his office jumping to their feet.

"OBSCURUS! YOU – YOU BRING ONE OF THOSE INTO MY – "

Harry moved, ramming the tip of his wand against the healer's throat, shutting him up sharply, "Watch. Your. Tongue," he hissed.

"You bring – an obscurus – into my hospital?" the healer hissed back, terrified and livid in equal measure to be so close to such a... _perversion_ , such a _tragedy_ of magic.

The Gryffindor hissed, "She is _mostly_ recovered, you idiot," he snapped making the healer freeze and stare at him with wide eyes. Harry scoffed and pulled his wand back, "Obscurials, if they're caught young enough, can reintegrate with their repressed magic, and become fully functioning members of society."

Sudesh slowly got to his feet, staring at the fearful little girl as she clung to his old friend, the way he held her completely without fear – though truly, he had seen the idiot Englishman cradling a freshly hatched Ironbelly and croon lullabies to it like a newborn infant. Scamander's understanding of dangerous beings was skewed at best. However... The girl was clearly frightened and there was no sign of misting black magic, no pressure change, her eyes remained as lovely a shade of brown as they had been when she first walked in. And she immediately reached for the volatile young man that assaulted him, completely fearless, and without hesitation, he saw that same young man gather her up in his arms.

Arms that turned gold, and began to mist.

Sudesh felt his heart seize when he witnessed the same thing happening to the child.

But instead of the familiar descriptions of black sandstorms, her magic was pale, like the colour of dull silver, bursts of pale blue-white, bursts of _starlight_ across the grey background of her misty shifting magic.

The girl was an Obscurial.

And her Obscurus was dying.

What in God's name was he looking at?

 _ **0000**_

 **And finally, we're done. I'm not sure how I feel about Sudesh. But I suppose that's a good thing.**

 **Amira's recovering, Newt is being extra cuddly with his two favourite dangerous magic clouds, and Harry kind of wants a fight right now. Gryffindors, they're a little highstrung.**


	31. Chapter 31

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Thirty One**

"You are – both..." Sudesh trailed off faintly.

Harry's lips pressed together uncomfortably as he kissed Amira's forehead. He was silent for a while, and then glanced to Newt who got to his feet expression painted with concern at the lost and vulnerable look on Harry's face. He looked down at Amira who peered up at him with complete trust in her beautiful brown eyes, and he breathed.

"Yes. I was... six when I – I am a Parselmouth. My in-born healing magics put me back together, and destroyed themselves in the process. Amira does not have that advantage, so it has been slow going." He nuzzled her hair and shifted his head to let her hug him properly, smiling at Newt when the Hufflepuff joined in, winding his arms around them both. "With our magic in contact, we can each feel and understand the other completely, without lies or falsehoods. It has made her recovery significantly faster and easier. In truth, the only individual that can help an Obscurial with their Obscurus, is another Obscurial _because_ of that."

Sudesh scrambled for his notebooks, "Tell me more," he begged, sweating slightly in his excitement. If he could _study_ these two, the girl's recovery, and publish his findings –

"No," Harry refused coldly, "Your job is to ensure her _physical_ well being, Healer Walid. Her magical recovery is my expertise. When I am happy with her progress, I will send you a compilation of my research, everything I know, guides for better rehabilitation, so that you can help any other children in the future. But I need to make _certain_ that what I'm doing can be used by others, I need to know it works."

Newt kissed Harry's forehead, "Finding Obscurials is not easy," he admitted quietly, "We haven't been able to rescue anyone other than Amira. Everything we're doing is experimental, and could prove to cause more harm than good in the long run. We hope not. But the risk is there, and we cannot, in good conscience, provide you with information that could put another in harm's way."

Slowly, Sudesh lowered his notes frowning in disappointed understanding, "I see. Disappointing but understandable."

 _ **000**_

Healer Walid needed to perform another check up as in his alarm over the first he had quite forgotten what the results were. For the most part, Amira was in good health, her growth would be somewhat stunted due to her two years of malnutrition without the intervention of certain potions – he was happy to copy the recipe for Harry to brew when they left the country. She would have to take that for eighteen months in order to correct the damage and attain her complete natural growth. There was extensive scarring to her intestines brought about by the parasites she suffered with though, that was not something Healer Walid could deal with.

"In all honesty, friend, I have seen muggle surgical techniques. I have taken ideas from their methods, barbaric as they would seem to you and I, if I were to heal the young lady of her scarring, it would take a combination of their surgery and direct applications of the required potions, freshly brewed at that. And there are no potion masters of decent repute in Cairo at this moment in time," he explained mournfully as he showed them the carefully inked picture his charm provided of Amira's intestines.

Harry frowned, "Surgery? That would be cutting her open to gain direct access to her organs. Do you have that kind of expertise or equipment, Healer Walid?" he asked sceptically.

The man blinked at him, "You are familiar with the practice?" he quieried.

"I was raised muggle," Harry informed him plainly, "And I know that in order to _perform_ surgery with anything approaching a reasonable degree of success it takes extensive training. Training I want to know if you have," he added pointedly.

Instead of being insulted, the Healer looked delighted, "Ah, most excellent! A young wizard who knows the ways of the world! Yes, I do indeed have the training required for muggle surgery and techniques. I may have liberally thrown around a few memory charms and confundus in order to get onto the courses, but I assure you I have the papers to prove it. With the Great War being as much of a mess as it was, I was hardly going to refuse young muggle men in my medical ward simply because I had no means of working on them without magic. Nay, I made a point of learning so that I could treat them as well."

Slowly the Gryffindor nodded, and then pressed Amira into Newt's arms moving to Healer Walid's side, "I think there's much you and I can talk about regarding combining practices."

 _ **000**_

Amira went under the knife the next day.

With a combination of Drought of the Living Death, Petrificuls Totalis, and several other potions to put her body into stasis, keep her stable, and prevent her from bleeding out during the procedure, Amira was laid out on a spotless table in a clean room that Harry had spent two hours syphoning every speck of dirt, dust, and contaminant out of, and then charming further against impurities.

Both Harry and Healer Walid spent much of the previous evening discussing and planning, thoroughly discussing _everything_ they could think of from potion applications, modification, bacterial infections, complications, patient preparation, the lot. Then they slept for a short period before _flying_ into activity while Newt stood to one side with Amira and watched in vague amusement.

The surgery lasted sixteen hours.

Every inch of Amira's intestinal tract was removed, opened, washed with potion, charmed, and carefully returned. They ended up healing a minimum of thirty-two perforations too small for the charms to have picked up, and removed a tiny benign tumour the size of a thumb-tack. There were no complications, and by the end of the surgery, they carefully returned her organs to their rightful positions, charmed her abdominal cavity back to rights, and healed her skin back together without even a scar to show for the traumatic procedure.

She would be on a liquid diet for the next week, not allowed to have cold drinks, or anything heavy in salt, sugar, or fat for the following month until they were certain her organs were functioning as they should... but now she was completely, one-hundred percent, healthy.

 _Guaranteed_.

 _ **000**_

Harry slept for a full twenty-four hours, out cold, curled up on his husband's lap in Sudesh's guest bedroom.

The Hufflepuff spent that time compiling more information into his journals regarding their trip so far, and continued his official notes on his book as well, occasionally stopping to run his fingers through Harry's hair while the Gryffindor slept on, completely dead to the world. By the time the Gryffindor _did_ rouse, it was the pre-dawn hours of early morning. The world was quiet save for a few morning birds outside the window, and what was unmistakably the sound Sudesh's pet dog patrolling the house, nails tiktak-ing on the wooden floorboards outside their room.

Newt was still dressed, he noted hazily as he pushed himself upright, feeling Newt's arm slip from around his shoulders to his waist. Curled up on top of the bedding, Harry recalled stumbling into the room and just collapsing onto the bed, not even bothering to remove his shoes as he just made his head comfortable on the Hufflepuff's thigh and immediately went to sleep. Right now he was in his boxers, with a thin bedsheet wrapped around him. His hair was loose and itchy against his shoulder blades – and probably also sticking up and mussed ridiculously on one side of his skull.

He dragged a hand through it, trying to remove as much wildness as he could, considerably easier now his hair was longer, but it did tend to clump into rather wild looking spikes when he left it loose. Like some ' _vengeful god of war_ ' Newt laughed once, much to his embarrassment right before he shoved the annoying Puff off the bed. Newt had to give him a lot of kisses to assuage his irritation that morning.

Harry glanced down at his husband before leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth softly, lingering just long enough to feel his mouth twitch in reply before pulling away and grinning at the weirdly puckered expression that gave the mythozoologist. How could he resist? Kissing him again, he felt the arm around his waist shift and Newt's mouth open slightly against him as he woke up.

It had really been too long since they had a moment to themselves, the Gryffindor decided as he trailed one hand down Newt's chest, to palm his groin, smirking a little when he found something a great deal more awake than his husband's actual brain.

 _ **000**_

They showed up while the two of them were cleaning up in the bathroom after their morning activities.

The doors downstairs blasting open, the dog kicking up an unholy racket as shouts went up, children screamed, and the hissing flashes and pops of active spell fire filled the air.

The two rushed out of the bathroom, summoning towels as they burst onto the landing – wizards and witches downstairs in black uniforms charging through every room, executing every adult, and rounding up all the children. Sudesh was face down on the flagstones, still in his sleeping clothes, he wasn't moving, and his young patients were all screaming and sobbing at the sight of his body, so close but too far out of reach for any of them to go over with the black clad mages corralling them in the centre of the courtyard.

Harry snarled, he didn't need to be a historian to recognise the uniforms of Grindelwald's personal special forces, the Knights of Walpurgis.

"Get Amira. Get those kids. And get out," he commanded shortly, not waiting for the Hufflepuff's affirmative before he dove headfirst over the railing into the courtyard and _landed_ on one of the witches, feet first, stomping her down into the stone. Had she been conscious, she probably would have received quite an appreciative view up his towel.

Shouts went up from the soldiers that spotted him, cries of 'it's him', 'capture – do not kill', 'remember your orders', and 'he's smaller than I thought he'd be' going up from Grindelwald's men, a moment before Harry was in motion.

The witch he went for screamed reflexively in surprise when he crossed the distance between them faster than she thought possible, spear tackling her to the ground, knocking her out with a point blank _stupefy_ to the throat before she could even raise her wand.

" _Hit the deck kids!_ " Harry shouted to the gaggle of terrified children in Arabic, thankfully more than enough of them knew the tongue to drop down, and drag their fellows with them.

Fiery whips swept out from the tip of Harry's wand, whirling around the courtyard to lash out at the still standing Knights.

"Hold your fire! Drop the wand, _now!_ " a woman shouted at him from the left. Harry glanced her way and then stopped fully when he clocked what was going on.

The hard faced blonde woman had a handgun pointed to the head of a little boy, his brown eyes wide with terror.

Harry stared at her, at the child, and then dropped his wand.

She swallowed, tense as a drawn bowstring, "Kick it towards me," she commanded.

Tilting his head, he flicked it her way with a bare foot.

Then she made the rookie mistake of glancing over to see where it landed – her eyes returning just in time to see his elbow in _high definition_ impact against her eyesocket.

The gun discharged, but Harry had already used his free hand behind the boy's shoulder to push him down and out of the way. Harry grabbed the gun from her fingers, but she wasn't going to let it go that easily.

The woman swore at him, trying to knee him in the balls, Harry hooked a leg behind her and bodily picked her up and threw her down the corridor where she skidded to a stop and reached for her wand – a breath before a bullet blew the back of her skull out.

Harry lowered the gun he managed to slip from the woman's hand when he threw her, and tugged his precariously low towel back up.

And then turned around to see Newt being held at wand-point, Amira held bridal in his arms, and a familiar face grinning nastily at him.

"Well, Potter, you _have_ filled out nicely," Marcus Flint observed, dressed in a Knight's uniform with what was most _definitely_ the sigil of the Hallows on his breast, something that historically would have denoted him as one of Grindelwald's _personal_ inner circle members.

"I'm hardly eleven anymore, Flint," he returned pleasantly before casually dropping the gun in front of him.

"You've always been a scrawny speccy little mudblood, pothead. Even at seventeen. Never knew what Malfoy saw in you," he commented blandly, making Harry grimace a little in disgust. Draco's schoolboy crush and his complete inability to express himself had been an absolute pain in the ass, and not a little bit embarrassing for Harry when _years_ down the line, Pansy Parkinson brought it up during one of her, Ginny, and Susan's little tea parties while Harry had been in the kitchen helping Teddy with his colouring in book, casually dropping that _exact_ comment (And how the fuck Ginny ended up friends with _Pansy Parkinson_ Harry could not even begin to fathom, but she did, and Hermione even ended up joining them as well in some frightening 'unholy feminine alliance' kind of weekly _tea party_ that grew to include Hannah, Luna, Cho, and several other terrifying witches he didn't want to argue with, and the former Kevin Entwhistle, now Kaylee). "But seeing you now, maybe he had some Seer blood in him. He was always annoyingly good at picking the best choice to work out in his benefit," the man decided, his expression shuttering with darkness.

"Follow the genocidal megalomaniac, or fight him and not be held under cruciatus multiple times a day? Because that is _such_ a difficult choice," Harry snipped sarcastically, with a very blatant roll of his eyes. "I can see where you would have _such_ difficulties with that one Flint, really truly."

"No, you didn't. Your mother was dead. You didn't have to deal with her life being at risk of your fuck ups," Flint casually corrected, tone forcibly light.

"Malfoy did. Luna did. I could give you a goddamn list of people, Flint. Perhaps your father should have thought twice before becoming a murderous twatwaffle in the seventies," the Gryffindor threw out ruthlessly.

The man laughed, "I definitely see the Black Blood in you now. Where's the Obscurial?" he demanded smiling.

"Eat me," Harry told him pleasantly.

"Maybe later when our Lord is finished with you," Flint suggested brightly with another considering up and down, "Just to warn you though Potter, Hannibal didn't interest me so much as the Libertine," he taunted, making the Gryffindor stare at him with his best Ginny impression when some young pup was trying to flirt at her.

"A pureblood that knows classical muggle literature. Not the strangest thing I've encountered, but not what I expected from you."

"Know thy enemy. Lord Grindelwald has spent quite some time broadening my horizons." And there was that fanatical light in his eyes, the familiar one that Harry used to see in Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes.

"And your thighs too, I'll guess," Harry quipped flippantly.

And was rewarded with the beautiful moment the Slytherin took his wand away from Newt's neck to point at him, and Pickett practically _flew_ from the mythozoologist's pocket to dig his tiny little claws into the man's throat.

Multiple shouts went up, and Harry dove forward, snatching the gun up as he rolled to his knees, narrowly avoiding the flash of spell fire as he nailed three of the watching Knights with a bullet, and Newt cursed the last two from where he was knelt down, Amira between his legs.

Flint was screaming, gurgling, Pickett had abandoned the ribbons of his throat and was savaging his eyes, deftly avoiding every slap and grab from his hands.

Harry snatched up his wand, gun in his other hand, he glanced at Newt, eyes roving what little of him could be seen through the dressing gown he must have summoned during the chaos. No damage that Harry could see, the Hufflepuff was busy checking Amira over, making sure her stomach was alright. Harry turned to Flint and strode over, catching Pickett around his middle and transferring the bowtruckle to his shoulder as he glared down at the Slytherin.

Marcus gurgled on his own blood, "Death by bowtruckle," he gasped, "that's – one for the – fuck – "

"Who else came back?" Harry demanded, stepping silently closer. With his eyes in such a ruin, there was no fucking chance of the Slytherin seeing where he was, or up his towel.

Flint laughed, "Fuck you, pothead."

Harry shot him through the palm of his hand, making the Slytherin scream again, blood _gushing_ in a sudden burst from his throat, "At this current rate, you have another three minutes to live if your heart continues to beat that fast. Three minutes is a long time I can hurt you in." He knelt down next to the Slytherin, "I'm not Dumbledore, I'm not a nice Light Lord, Flint. I'm the light that fucking _burns_. So, you either tell me what I want to know, or I make the last three, oops, two and a half minutes of your life excruciating enough to follow you into the next life. Which, for all you know, I _can_ do. And _have_ done."

Fear, absolute animal terror crossed his face for a heartbeat.

It was hard for Hogwarts alumni to remember that Harry had earned the title of Master of Death, that during his years as an Auror he had dealt with a _few_ necromancers attempting to raise the likes of Voldemort, Grindelwald, and other various monstrosities from the grave. All records of those incidents were covered up, hush hush, with only the Minister for Magic, the head UNSPEAKABLE, and the head of the Auror Department allowed to know what really happened. Speculation was rampant, Skeeter had a field day – month really. But in the end, no one knew what Harry had done to those poor dumb souls, just that they weren't on the roster for Azkaban, and they were never heard from again.

"We told him," Flint gasped, his throat bubbling faster, "We told him about you. About the Dark Lord. There's no where to run Potter. The Knights will follow you where-ever you go," he panted, grinning cruelly. "He knows what you are. And he's coming for you."

Harry shoved himself up and away, anxiousness settling coldly into his bones as Newt looked up at him, as he looked across the courtyard to where the children were huddled against the far wall in utter terror, surrounded by corpses, at Sudesh Walid who – groaned, and tried to push himself upright.

Ignoring the harsh gurgling behind him of Flint, Harry was immediately at the Healer's side as he vomited across the stone floor.

 _ **000**_

The healer had been clipped by a compression curse as the Knights stormed in, he had passed out from air-loss, and collapsed a lung. But he would survive. He would heal. And he was now responsible for twelve of the children in his care whose parents had been murdered during the attack.

Harry, Newt, and Amira left that day.

Newt travelled alone, while Harry and Amira remained hidden within his suitcase.

It really shouldn't have surprised the Gryffindor that after three days of this change in travel arrangement he woke up one morning to a goddamn _thunder bird flying in through the creature door into an empty rocky environment_.

"I cannot leave you unsupervised for a single week, can I?" the Gryffindor asked with a raised eyebrow as Newt _attempted_ to sneak back into the suitcase, comically freezing with wide eyes and absolutely wild hair, soaking wet and windswept so that one side was plastered flat to his skull and the other stuck up straight, vertically.

"Harry!" he blurted, looking around desperately for a distraction.

"I customised the environment he landed in to resemble what little I know of Arizona from old cowboy movies. He's currently eating several fish from our cold store, and a couple of sheep," the former auror informed his husband dryly, kissing him on the cheek before marching past into the house, "Take a shower. Tell me what happened _after_ I feed you something hot," he commanded shortly. "I'm not letting you catch a cold just to give it to me and Amira."

Newt didn't let him reach the door before he hugged him from behind, making the Gryffindor yelp about how he was soaking wet and _freezing_ , excuse you, let go that's cold – where are those hands going! Newt! You're getting me wet! Put me down right now!

He stopped protesting when the Hufflepuff pulled him into the bathroom with him.

 _ **0000**_

 **MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAHAH**

 **An adorable ending on top of a MASSIVE PLOT TWIST. Hee hee hee hee.**


	32. Chapter 32

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Thirty Two**

Frank seemed to really take to both Harry and Amira, the Gryffindor more so than any one else – continuing his unfortunate propensity to be mobbed by birds both magical and mundane. Mei took deep offence to the thunderbird's seeming attempt to steal her person and practically dive bombed the larger magical creature, shrieking. Frank seemed more bewildered than offended thankfully, and things settled down rather quickly.

Sat at the wooden table outside the shed, Harry and Newt were mixing up feed and prepping potion ingredients while Amira chased the much healthier fwoopers with giggling laughter as Dougal and Moriarty chased her heels.

"Flint was head of the Slytherin Quidditch team when I was in Hogwarts," Harry explained as he shelled beans into a large tub, "He graduated in my third year, though I heard he got held back a year too, but I'm not sure if it's true. Either way, he joined Voldemort during the Second Rise, became one of the Snatchers. I never knew what happened to him after the War. I assumed he died," the Gryffindor admitted rubbing his chin as he leaned back on the bench, rubbing his fingertips over the container to flake off the bean remnants.

"He said he wasn't the only one to come back though," Newt pointed out worriedly. If these people were now part of Grindelwald's inner circle, and telling him all about Harry, his doings, and his history, then that would definitely explain the attacks Charlus told them the Potters were suffering. An attempt to kill Harry before he was sired, or something else?

Harry shrugged his shoulders, "Flint was enough of an idiot at school that we all thought he had some Troll ancestry in there somewhere. But he was savage, and cruel, and good enough with the Dark Arts that I guess impure blood was secondary to what he could bring to the table of their movement." He rapped his knuckles thoughtfully on the container's rim as he frowned distantly, thinking hard, "Crabbe was killed in the Room during the Battle of Hogwarts... Draco doesn't have contact with them anymore. Pansy is Ginny's bestfriend. Gregory Goyle was arrested post battle. Blaise Zabini went Dark Lord, so I stabbed him in the head with one of his mother's steak knives during a dinner party." He huffed, "Of the remaining Wanted Death Eaters... There aren't many. Millicent Bullstrode, Theodore Nott, Warrington, Montague, _possibly_ Cliodna Zabini, Blaise's mother..." he listed, ticking off fingers as he glared down at the table.

"Any of them dangerous?" Newt asked warily, making Harry snort darkly.

"They're _all_ dangerous, Newt. We spent our teenage years training and learning and preparing for a goddamn magical civil war while eating in the same room as someone you knew would try to kill you the second they thought they could get away with it. Of the lot... Nott is the most dangerous though. Quiet kid, kinda stringy and disturbingly blank. Has a poker face to make a wall proud. But I saw some of the spell combinations he used when he _did_ get into a fight. His father was an UNSPEAKABLE and it was really obvious he taught a lot of stuff he shouldn't have to his son. Zabini, I'm pretty sure she's a more insidious kind of dangerous, the kind that leaves poison on teacups and trip-jinxes at the tops of stairs. Bullstrode was their Dark Arts heavy, if I recall correctly. That and she wasn't afraid to just throw her wand away and get her hands dirty. She tried to choke Hermione unconscious when we were twelve in Duelling Club. I don't know much about Warrington and Montague, they were a few years ahead, we only really clashed on the Quidditch pitch, and Warrington once or twice in my fifth year – Montague was in St Mungos for most of it."

"How much to do they know about, well, everything?"

"Practically nothing," Harry admitted dully, "I never really told anyone the truth of it all. I'm pretty sure they don't even know their precious Dark Lord's birth name. They probably came back thinking they could find him and bring him to Grindelwald, not realising that..." Harry trailed off, frowning before his eyes widened, "Not realising that he won't even be _born_ for another four months! Newt! Voldemort! He's going to be _born_ January First _next year_!" he yelped, jumping to his feet.

Newt blinked staring up at him before frowning, "Harry, you're not going to – "

"What? No! Newt, his mother will die in Childbirth! He'll be left in a muggle orphanage," the Gryffindor explained as he started pacing, rubbing at his face, "I can't just leave him there. Not knowing how they'll treat him and how that'll mould him into what he'll become." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, "Do you know any families who would be willing to adopt him, and raise him _right_? I'd ask the Potters but... asking them to raise their murderer is a bit..." he trailed off awkwardly, distressed and a little frantic in a way that Newt had never seen him be before. Not even the furore of rushing to find Amira was quite like this.

So this was what Harry was like when he faced a problem he literally could do nothing about – a little scatty and frantic.

However, "Are you sure you could trust another family to do it?" he asked knowingly.

Harry shook his head, "Probably not. But I don't think I could do it right _either_ , knowing what I know. I'd be too hard on him, constantly watching him for slip ups, suspicious, treating him like a bomb about to go off. No child deserves that," he explained, shaking his head as he flexed his hands repeatedly and gestured as he paced. "The Goldsteins maybe?" he mumbled thoughtfully.

"Who?" Newt asked curiously.

Harry blinked at him, "The – the Goldsteins, Pureblood family. Generally Hufflepuff. You don't know them?" he asked curiously. Newt shook his head, he'd never heard of that family at Hogwarts, or at any of his mother's social events. "Huh..." the Gryffindor said, seemingly at a loss. "Well... how are the... the Weasleys? What's their financial situation?" he asked curiously.

Newt winced.

"Nevermind," Harry quickly said with a wince of his own.

"They just lost the family fortune," Newt admitted with a grimace. "Arturius Weasley defaulted on a Duel to Drago Malfoy over his younger sister a few years ago. Now that Arty is the Head of the family, Drago claimed it. Took the whole lot, broke their marriage due to some clause in the marriage contact about finances, and handed his sister off to a buddy of his. They're completely destitute. Not even a roof over their heads. Drago even claimed their _wands_ ," he added with a disgusted shake of his head. To take things _that_ far was the lowest of the low in _every_ social circle. But it did however hold the double standard of ensuring that no one would ever risk tangling with Drago Malfoy again if he was going to go so far as to completely _ruin_ you and your family to the point of casting you out of the Magical World entirely.

Harry's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "Well, that's something I think I will resolve when I get back to England. How does one go about challenging someone to a Duel?" he asked slowly.

For a moment, Newt wanted to warn him about how dangerous Drago Malfoy was in a duel, then he remembered what he had _seen_ and decided his breath would be better spent warning the healers at St Mungos to get a bed ready for the Malfoy Head. "Typically because you have never been introduced to each other, you would have to approach him, announce your names, titles, and then challenge him as a champion of the Weasley family on the grounds of his deplorable behaviour. Just, the Weasleys may not appreciate it, just to warn you. They're a proud family, and they won't want the help."

Harry shrugged a shoulder, "Well, they're getting it. I can never pay back Molly and Arthur, or their children, or Ron for what they did for me. But I can do this. And if they ask, or try to refuse, I'll tell them. They're as much my family as the Potters. More so, actually. If I can stop Ron from growing up in a rebuilt pig sty, then I'm doing it."

Newt caught his hand and tugged him into his lap, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "Just be prepared to have Arty try to bluster a hundred and one refusals, and maybe try to challenge you to a Duel to reclaim it himself," he warned, beginning to pepper the side of Harry's neck with more kisses.

"I learned to successfully argue with both Molly _and_ Ginny. I think I can handle him."

 _ **000**_

In order to return Frank to where he needed to be, and then get back to England in time for young Tom Riddle's birth, Harry and Newt needed to haul ass down south in order to catch a boat from Equatorial Guinea – they couldn't very well stay in Egypt and wait for the ship to New York there after Newt's abduction of the Thunderbird. Frank may have been _illegally_ smuggled into the country, but that didn't change the fact that he was also desperately needed there either (Harry contemplated contacting the Netherlands Ministry to inform them that the Egyptians may need a few weather mages or they may continue to do something stupid), and by stealing him back to take to America, Newt had not made himself very popular with _any_ of the Egyptian mages.

"Burkina Faso isn't too far away from Ginuea," Harry pointed out, Amira in his lap, as they flew across the vast tracks of desert and hard scrubland. "We can check and find out if there _are_ any Runespoor reserves on our way! If there are, we can leave the girls with them!" he called.

"Sounds good – ah, there! Train!" Newt shouted back, the two of them spotting the trundling metal behemoth in the distance. Alas with all the people piled on the roof, the two hadn't a hope of getting anywhere near it and hidden beneath Disillusionment Charms, they were still somewhat safe from discovery as long as no one was paying close enough attention to see the clouds distorting as they passed.

The two exchanged looks, about as well as they could under the disillusionment charms, before Harry adjusted his grip on the little girl, and shot on ahead curving along ahead of the train to follow the tracks up ahead. Newt following suit on the Firebolt and idly wishing they weren't in such a hurry to avoid trouble and get back to England that they could walk. He would have liked to see the landscape at ground-level and find any magical creatures in the sand.

It took two days to reach Burkina Faso by broom, the two of them only stopping to make camp – ward a tiny patch of dirt and set the case up in a way that it couldn't be found, or washed away, blown over, or close and lock on them.

There were indeed runespoor sancturies in Burkina Faso, occupying huge swathes of warded land, a small mountain range, and a lake, the place was filled with lividly coloured serpents – less than a tenth of their girls' size.

"Ah. Um," Newt observed intelligently as the small family of three stood beside their guide to the Sanctuaries, Shuri.

"Is dere a problem, Mista Scamanda?" the older woman asked in thickly accented English, her lined face stern and unamused as she observed him.

"No, no, not as... such..." he trailed off before scratching his head, "I... honestly don't know what to make of it. The runespoor we rescued is... _significantly_ larger than any of these breeds. Her mother likewise. I thought all runespoors were of similar..." he trailed off awkwardly, a frown of concern crossing his features.

Shuri hmm'd, "May I see dis creacha?" she asked.

"Ah, yes, of course," the Hufflepuff agreed, opening his suitcase, "This way!" he called as he climbed in, in front of Shuri's astonished gaze.

"It's perfectly safe, Keeper Shuri," Harry explained in English, being unfamiliar with her native tongue, and Gourmantche using primarily their very own dialect that was quite divorced from the national language of Mossi, and their ' _official_ ' language of French (which Harry actually knew only a little due to Fleur and Gabrielle swearing a lot in it).

"You keep your animals in a suitcase?" she demanded disapprovingly, scowling at him.

Harry chuckled, "We keep ourselves in there too. Take a look, it isn't as bad as you're fearing."

The stern woman hrrmph'd and stubbornly forced herself into the case despite her obvious discomfort with the very idea, though her expression changed to one of awe and shock when she got a better look inside. Just the foyer was larger than anything she had seen in an expanded space, and it looked like there was more judging by the two doors.

"This way, Madam Shuri!" the crazy British Mythozoologist exclaimed through the slightly open dark brown doorway.

Harry had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter when she got a look at the animal enclosures.

 _ **000**_

Bubbles, Buttercup, and Blossom were not pureblooded Runespoors.

Her mother had been half-Basilisk, naturally born, or artificially created and unleashed no one could possibly know. But either way, she had inherited nothing from her basilisk blood besides great size, and armoured scales, meaning that despite her size, there was a home for her within the Sanctuaries of Gourmantche's Pama Reserve. Shuri would ensure she was well taken care of – and prevent any breeding accidents.

It was a wonder that her mother had managed to produce an egg at all. By all rights such a cross-breed should have been infertile.

"Perhaps she was one of that mad General's breeding experiments," Shuri offered with a shrug and a scowl before they shook hands and parted ways.

News of General Galgut's activities amongst the South African magical communities, the ways he manipulated both muggle and magical governments, and even drugged the population and utilised both muggle and magical innovation in order to achieve his position had turned a great deal of the country on its head. The South African Ministries were in shambles and desperately trying to shore themselves up before the white powers poked their fingers into the still open wounds from the Great War. Harry knew absolutely nothing about the magical History of this part of the world, he was fairly certain he had changed things here a great deal by killing the General, but how much, he hadn't the faintest idea, nor whether or not that would affect the Second World War.

Either way, the small family of three humans and a suitcase of their monsters made their way south-east from Burkina Faso's Gourmantche territory into Benin, a small sliver of land famous for being the home of the muggle 'voodoo' religion, and the origin of Vodun magic, Spirit Summoning. It was said, that at the height of the Dahomey Kingdom's magical power, their Mage-King sat atop a throne made of human skulls, each the wisest or greatest warrior of his tribe, and through evocations and sacrifice with Vodun, he was able to call upon their wisdom and knowledge, even their will and strength, to strike down his enemies, feed his people, and bring justice to the wrong-doer.

Harry did not sleep well in that country.

His dreams filled with whispers and shadows, and whenever he woke, he never felt like he was alone.

It got so bad, that he ended up covering all the mirrors in their suitcase, and while he huddled against Newt while he slept, he wouldn't allow intimacy between them. Often times when he woke, he would immediately go and check on Amira, relaxing only when he found Mei within her room.

Thankfully with the brooms they weren't in the country for long.

They passed through into Nigeria and Harry's nightmares abated considerably enough for him to think twice about their final destination in the country.

"Don't we need _permits_ to get into New York?" he asked as they ate breakfast at the kitchen table, one eyebrow arched as he sipped his tea, Amira humming on his left as she licked fruit jam from her chill pink fingers. She had rapidly fallen in love with the empty tundra environment when she found it, enchanted with snow and everything to do with it. Harry had been forced to make her specific snow-appropriate clothing just so she could play in the powdery white stuff, which she did at almost every given opportunity. He had even gone so far as to adjust the little observation out-house Newt had made back when he had housed a yeti in the enclosure. The man eating beast had been too wild for him to interact with under normal circumstances, so in order to observe its behaviours and activities he had hidden himself within the outhouse, sadly the yeti passed away from at the time unknown circumstances, but later discovered a burst appendix.

Newt grimaced at the reminder of the paperwork, "I have the papers, but I have yet to submit them I will admit. I wasn't – well, we may need to bribe someone to fudge your records a little," he admitted with a wrinkle of his nose.

"Only a little," Harry agreed dryly with a smirk.

"Is there me paper?" Amira asked curiously in broken English. She had been making great progress on getting the hang of the language, and Newt had likewise been learning Arabic in exchange – though their clever little Stardust was getting it a lot faster than her freckled guardian.

"Are there papers for me," Harry corrected gently, and repeated it in Arabic for her before shaking his head, " _No sweetheart. You're not old enough to need them yet, thankfully_."

Newt grimaced, "I have no idea how we're going to explain her presence without admitting to kidnapping charges," he admitted, dragging a long fingered hand through his hair.

His husband snorted darkly, "Obscurials aren't classed as human," he stated bitterly, "That's why it isn't illegal to kill one. We're in the 'Dangerous Beasts' category, even in the nineties."

The mythozoologist's face twisted in anger for a moment as Harry stroked their daughter's hair and smiled at her when she peered up at him curiously. Her recovery was going so well, her magic no longer shimmered at physical contact with Harry unless they both willed it, a shimmer remained like rippling light on a pond, but it was barely visible and entirely unnoticeable unless searched for.

"Well, that's just going to have to be something we change once we get Harold to back us in making your Child Protection division in the Aurors," he declared firmly as he got to his feet and collected their dirty breakfast dishes. "I'll fill those permits in tonight, and we can ask Mei very nicely if she would pretty please deliver them to MACUSA."

"What is MACUSA?" Amira asked, not familiar with the word.

"Magical Congress United States of America," Harry listed carefully for her.

"America? _We're going to America?!_ " she exclaimed excitedly.

 _ **0000**_

 **And chapter done. Shorter than usual but... uuuuuuuuuugh, Merry Christmas, enjoy your multiple updates!**


	33. Chapter 33

_**000**_

 **Against My Nature**  
 _Newt/Harry, Timetravel Shenanigans, Canon Divergent_

His plan was to avoid changing the timeline. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if the opportunity presented itself. So he fled to Africa, where opportunity found him instead.

 _ **000**_

 **Chapter Thirty Three**

They couldn't send Mei.

At the last second, Newt remembered that for some _completely unfathomable idiotic reason_ MACUSA had categorised Phoenix as 'Dark Creatures'. Dark. Phoenix. They had actually put Phoenix into the Dark Creatures category.

Harry boggled.

With this in mind, they were _literally_ going to have to smuggle him into the country. Not Amira, who was exempt from needing the Wand Permit papers because she was too young to have need of one just yet, though they were going to have to smuggle her in regardless because the muggle transport system was still segregated. Despite her age, she wouldn't be allowed in any of the Whites Only areas on board the ship, and Newt wandering into the Colour sections was a recipe for disaster.

"It could be worse," Newt attempted to be cheery, only to be treated to a look of amused exasperation from his husband, and one of wary curiosity from their daughter. She was growing up far too fast, and becoming entirely too used to the kind of chaos that followed on the heels of her parents.

"Newt, you _do_ realise I'm going to have to – you know how I handle ship transport," he pointed out before looking pointedly at Amira who was twisting her head in order to glance between them curiously. "Seeing me in that state could prompt an accidental magic outburst before she's ready for it. It would set her recovery back months."

The mythozoologist hummed, pressing his knuckles to his lips. That was of concern, yes. The last thing they wanted to do was undo all of Amira's hard work in getting comfortable with her magic by causing her physical pain with it. Until her channels had properly healed after her Obscurial bursts, using magic would be painful for her, and with her mental state so fragile, if she grew to resent her magic for causing her that pain – then there would be _no_ coming back. He scruffed a hand through his hair.

"What if... you slept through it?" he suggested slowly. Harry tilted his head curiously. "Hear me out. Draught of the Living Death. You sleep through the voyage like that muggle-story of the Princess who went to sleep in that castle after pricking herself on a spinning wheel. When we get to New York, I can wake you up again. That way you can avoid the motion-sickness, Amira won't have to see you in that awful state, and we can secretly smuggle you into the country with ease!" he exclaimed gaining more enthusiasm as he explained his idea.

Harry stared at him, "You... want me to be Sleeping Beauty?" he asked slowly.

"Is that her name? I thought it was some kind of flower?" the Hufflepuff asked. Harry remembered, not for the last time probably, that this was the mid-1920's. Disney did not exist just yet. The tale of Sleeping Beauty as he knew it had not even been concepted by the animators and artists of the massive entertainment corporation.

"I wouldn't know it either way," he dismissed before leaning back against the kitchen counter to think about what Newt was suggesting. Basically putting himself into a controlled coma for the duration of the trip to avoid his astonishingly atrocious motion-sickness, and whatever bad reaction Amira may have as a result of that motion-sickness. It was a good idea. If he was in a magically induced coma, then he wouldn't be able to _get_ motion-sick, the Draught would put him into a complete state of suspension for however long it took to administer the antidote. Which meant that he wouldn't need to eat either. "Do we even have the ingredients for that?" he asked with a frown.

Newt nodded, "Yes. And I'm sure with a little care I can acquire the others." It took Harry a moment, but then he remembered. The creatures. Newt was actually willing to harvest potion ingredients from his creatures – for Harry.

The urge to jump his husband was only tempered by the fact that Amira was still in the room, but judging by the way the Hufflepuff went a bit pink and ducked his head with a pleased grin, it was probably written all over the Gryffindor's face.

Amira wrinkled her nose and returned her attention back to her breakfast, they were making _Eyes_ at each other again.

 _ **000**_

When the ship to New York rolled into Equatorial Guinea's Calatrava port, Harry was already tucked up in bed, sleeping soundly under the affects of the Draught of the Living Death with Amira sat at his side clutching his hand and counting his breaths with Mei perched on her shoulder. They had dosed him that morning after a long talk with the little girl explaining how he got so badly sick on ship journeys, and how because the ship was muggle he couldn't spend it on his broomstick like he had before. So he was going to sleep for it, and when they got to New York he would wake up as if from a nap.

In all honesty, Newt was looking forward to it.

It went without argument that Amira would gravitate much more to Harry than to him, the two had a bond that Newt couldn't compete with due to their Obscurial natures, as well as the pure unfiltered emotional feedback from each other. But he would be lying if he said he wasn't a little jealous of being the one outside looking in. So yes, he was actually looking forward to getting to know the little girl a bit better, to spending some quality time with the child he had come to think of as his own daughter – because Merlin help him if anyone tried to take her away from their little family.

The first day was a quiet one, Amira was very anxious about Harry being asleep, so it was spent mostly in the master bedroom, Newt told her stories about how they first met (heavily edited!), their adventures in China and Africa. He braided her hair, had her draw on spare parchment all manner of outfits he then transfigured for her – she got very excited and eventually abandoned her vigil over the sleeping Gryffindor to show off her new outfits to Dougal and Moriarty who were outside.

She helped him with tending to the creatures, listening attentively as he explained how to take care of them, taught her about potions and healing, even set up a little cauldron for her to make some nutrient potions to feed to a few of the creatures he rescued along with Frank from those smugglers in Egypt.

They had tea-parties, Newt remembered that being a thing that little girls did and set one up, complete with conjured fine china, an array of seats he set each of her stuffed animals into, a few seats were set up for Mor the teddy, Mei, Dougal, Pickett, Moriarty, and even Kermit the kneazle who had become quite protective of Amira during her time in the case. The eight year old had been entirely bewildered by the production, she had never even heard of a tea-party before, but was more than willing to go and get dressed up in her prettiest dress and hat and join him for lunch and drinks and pretend to be a Lady – even if her conversation subjects leaned towards deadly creatures and combat magic applications (she was, without a doubt, his and Harry's daughter – she even wrinkled her nose the same way that Harry did when he heard something he disagreed with but was too polite to point out).

They had snowball fights in the arctic enclosure, and Amira got to build her first ever snowman, that she swiftly decided needed another snowman to be his husband, and a snowgirl to be their daughter. She stole Newt's blue coat, and Harry's red auror robe to dress the two larger snowmen in, and put one of her pink hats on the snowgirl.

Newt wrote some more of his book, finalising several pages of notes while Amira practised her handwriting and reading on the floor beside him – eventually painting a very beautiful landscape picture of an African sunset. She most _definitely_ had talent as an artist, even if Newt's heart ached a little when she told him it was the first sunset she saw outside of her hut with them. The sunset was framed and put up on the wall, it was soon joined by paintings of Mei, Pickett, Moriarty in his little treasure horde, Harry glimmering with golden magic and a smile like sunshine on his face, Newt himself in half-light a campfire at his back and moonlight on his face, a gentle smile and an outstretched hand. He had blushed furiously when she presented that picture to him and asked for it to be framed too.

They made cakes in the kitchen, following the recipe that Harry had written down in his cook book, and made a complete mess of everything – but still ended up with some pretty tasty cookies all the same. They weren't even burnt! They repainted Amira's room her new favourite colour – which was a cheerful ocean blue. And they, of course, ended up making a bit of a mess of Harry himself. His long hair put into braids, with ribbons and beads.

By the time they had arrived in New York, Newt didn't want to climb out of the case in all honesty.

Passing through American customs was about as amusing as it was a little bit nerve-wracking. No matter how used to sneaking past officials he was, it still made his stomach twist a little to be so dishonest, to actively lie to someone's face. Usually he was able to get away without lying, just by... misrepresenting the truth, so to speak.

But still, New York was... _incredible_.

All this... done by muggles. Thought up, conceived, designed, and built by muggles. It was _incredible_. And after Africa, and so long on the ship, it was entirely overwhelming. In a good way. It was so lively. Everyone was bustling this way and that, all wrapped up in their lives, living them, loving them. Nature was amazing and beautiful, and hands down, he would pick an unexplored trek of wilderness over a city in a heartbeat, but sometimes it was still nice to take a step into a city like this and see just how incredible humanity could be – instead of how awful. Here, he could see how far they had come, look at the culmination of hardwork, intelligence, ambition, and bravery all rolled into one, all of those core tenants that Hogwarts held in such high regard could all be found in almost everything that humanity had accomplished. The bravery to ask What If, the ambition to do such, the intelligence to figure it out, and the hardwork in _making it so_.

Just as nature had the power to make him feel small, walking through a city of men was enough to make him feel like a _giant_.

Amira would have loved this. Newt grinned as he followed the sounds of men and women throughout the city, just soaking it all in even as he distantly searched for a way out of the city – it would be safer to wait until he was out of New York before collecting them both given how this was the seat of MACUSA's power.

"...this great city sparkles with the jewels of man's invention! Movie theatres, automobiles, the wireless, electric lights – all dazzle and bewitch us!" a woman's voice preached from within a crowd. Newt paused curiosly, was there some kind of event? "But where there is light, there is also shadow, friend! Something is stalking our precious city, wreaking destruction and then disappearing without a trace!" the woman's voice continued, carrying easily over the crowds, as if casting a spell over them with the sheer power and conviction of her words.

Newt paused on the fringes of the group, sliding past a group of women to get into a better position to watch. There was a diminutive older woman stood upon the steps just outside the bank, wrapped up warm in a purple coat that he couldn't help but think his mother would have found quite handsome, around her were a number of dour faced men and women holding up banners, a trio of children solemnly handing out leaflets to anyone who even made vague eye-contact.

The Hufflepuff paused, tilting his head as his skin shivered. He had come to trust his instincts over the years, often times his 'sixth sense' had saved his life before his common sense or even his eyes had warned him of anything amiss. So why, now, were his instincts warning him? And what exactly was it they were warning him about?

He didn't feel _threatened_. But it was definitely something unpleasant...

"We have to fight – join us, the Second Salemers, in our fight!" the woman commanded, lifting a hand to the crowd challengingly. She was quite the public speaker, this tiny matronly woman.

Someone barged into him from behind, falling forward, tripping over his suitcase.

When Harry asked him later how he got himself into such trouble, Newt would firmly place this _exact_ moment as the source of it all. The moment his case latches popped, jarring the mechanism that opened the secondary entrance into the creature enclosures. It didn't _open_ , thank Merlin, no.

But a certain someone _did_ escape.

A certain someone who had been _relapsing_ on his trigger resistance training while Harry had been sleeping. Someone who heard the familiar _clink_ of a coin, and – surrounded by loud noises, strange smells, _strange humans_ , in an obviously muggle area, panicked, and fell straight back into his old bad habits.

All because a rushing muggle tripped over his suitcase.

"Why in the name of Deliverance Dane did you let that thing loose?" the pretty brunette witch demanded plaintively after the utter _mess_ of Moriarty's stealing spree within the bank, the escape of the muggle man who lashed him in the face and hand with a suitcase and fled before he could be properly _Obliviated_.

He sighed, smiling a little awkwardly at the woman who seemed so worked up over such a little ruckus. "I didn't mean to – he's been falling behind on his rehabilitation, you see. His former owners trained him to grab up anything within sight– "

"You _didn't mean to_?" the woman echoed sharply, frustrated and disbelieving all at once.

"No," he agreed firmly. He would have _never_ risked Moriarty in such a way.

The woman made a noise of frustration, "You could not have chosen a worse time to let that creature loose! We're in the middle of a situation here!" she hissed frantically before leaning back, inhaling shakily, "I'm taking you in," she decided almost sadly.

"You're taking me where?" he asked, genuinely curious because really, she hardly seemed like- no, he shouldn't make assumptions on people based on their appearance. Harry afterall was perhaps the biggest surprise that anyone could expect.

That was the moment she pulled out a familiar I.D., letting it fall open, "Magical Congress of the United States of America."

She was an auror.

The knowledge ran quicksilver through his mind, she was an auror. He had just performed a severe breach of the Statitute of Secrecy in the middle of New York. In truth, there were at least five muggle witnesses that he should have Obliviated, the bakery man, the one he petrified, and the three security guards who witnessed him apparate out of the bank. Never mind his case, Harry, Amira, and the vast number of magical creatures within. Could he trust his brother's reputation to shield him from backlash, or perhaps he should bank on his international connections and the licences he possessed from the British Ministry giving him allowance for the case and creatures within? His name was well known in China thanks to his and Harry's antics in breaking up the illegal creature markets the Triads controlled, and they had also gained some measure of notoriety within Africa following the Ochuka situation.

"So you work for MACUSA?" he heard his voice asking almost nervously, "What are you, some kind of investigator?"

She hesitated. And not quite nodded, but dipped her head suggestively, making a humming noise that could have been mistaken for confirmation, as she quickly stowed the I.D. card back into her grey coat pockets.

Newt relaxed. That was the reaction of someone who was stepping above their station, whether she was a minor administrator, or a desk-jockey, or the tea-woman remained to be seen, but clearly she wasn't an _official_ -official.

"You wiped his memory, right? The No-Maj with the case?" she asked briskly, almost nervously, jarring him out of his thoughts.

"Um," he managed, trying to think of an appropriate excuse without lying, but clearly not quick enough if the way her whole body seemed to sag.

"That's a Section Three-A, Mister Scamander," she told him, her face falling as she shook his head and grabbed his arm, "I'm taking you in."

The jerk of apparation was incredibly jarring, nothing at all like Harry's smooth twist that felt more like plunging headfirst off a cliff, the woman's technique was like slamming against the surface of water face first and then plunging through with pure force. A powerful witch to be sure, but perhaps not one gifted with an abundance of finesse – or confidence in her skill, thus more apt to use force? Hard to tell.

She hauled him roughly across a busy muggle street, gesturing muggle autos to stop with a hand as she practically manhandled him through the traffic towards a huge sky-scraping building of glass and stone.

"Come on," she commanded briskly, nervously looking around as if she expected to be attacked.

He tried to tug his arm free, but she clamped her hand down hard enough that her nails dug into him even through the thick material of his pressed wool coat, "Sorry, but I _do_ have things to do, actually," he objected semi-forcefully.

She scoffed, "Well, you'll have to rearrange them!" she huffed dismissively as she yanked him across another busy street. "What are you doin' in New York anyway?" she demanded harshly.

He was getting somewhat fed up of her waspish tone in all honesty, "Just passing through," he explained shortly.

"Passing through _where_?" she demanded as she practically shoved him towards a gentleman in a neat black uniform with shiny golden buttons.

"Arizona. I happened across something that was stolen while I was in Egypt, and intended to see it returned," he explained shortly.

The woman eyed him coolly, and then turned to the man in the uniform, "I got a Section Three-A," she grunted, and Newt watched how the stony faced man didn't say anything or even look at her strangely before he was doing something to the door. He felt a small sting of trepidation, perhaps she wasn't as powerless as he assumed. He sincerely hoped he still had some manner of pull with the British Ministry even after his silence over the last five years during his studies abroad.

"Hey," the auror barked, glaring at him, "The smuggling of stolen goods, even with the intention of returning them, is still classified as a crime. That's a Section Seventeen-B, one through ten depending on the nature of the article."

What he wouldn't give for Harry's gift at spinning truth and lie right now. Because his own efforts seemed to be doing nothing more than getting him deeper into trouble!

 _ **000**_

Goldstein.

This woman was part of the family that Harry considered leaving his potential Dark Lord to?

Well... She _was_ an auror. Former, at least, or so the somewhat humiliating dismissal he witnessed in the Major Investigations Department suggested. He held his tongue out of sympathy as the young woman silently, her ears and the back of her neck stained pink with embarrassment, lead him down to a basement office overcrowded with papers, unmanned enchanted typewriters, and tangling reams of glass pipes that origami mice skittered in and out of – occasionally bumping into each other and breaking out into violent fights that saw one another shredded.

It was a windowless, airless, and practically _soulless_ chamber, Newt couldn't think of many places less cheery in all honesty as he was forced to duck under a low-hanging sign that read 'Wand Permit Office' in neat cursive, clearly hand painted.

Miss Goldstein swallowed hard and swiftly stripped out of her coat and hat, taking a breath and trying to hitch some facsimilie of professionalism back into place as she busied herself with the stacks of papers. Stacks of papers which happened to be unopened Wand Permits.

"So, you got your wand permit? All foreigners have to have them in New York," she declared, sitting on her desk and eyeing him suspiciously.

"I made a postal application weeks ago," he explained, though there was no chance the owl would have reached them. There was also no chance she would be able to find any application within that pile.

"Sca...man...der..." she murmured as she scribbled on her clipboard, "And you were just in Equatorial Guinea?" she asked, having asked him several probing questions on their trip there.

"I've just completed a year in the field." Of Africa and China specifically, but he didn't really class his trips around Europe as being out in the field, not when he could apparate some thirty miles and stay at a Magically inclined Inn whenever he pleased. "I'm writing a book about magical creatures," he explained with a thread of pride in his voice.

She eyed him blandly, "Like – an extermination guide?" she asked flatly.

Anger flushed through him, "No," he bit out, telling himself that he shouldn't have been so surprised or frustrated. Time with Harry had clearly spoiled him. Very _very_ few others felt the same way that he did regarding creature conservation or the environment. "A guide to _help_ people understand why we should be protecting these creatures instead of killing them," he explained briskly, eyeing her intently as he tried to force his tone to remain even and not to shout at her. She was just a product of her upbringing and surroundings, same as everyone else he was trying to educate.

"GOLDSTEIN! Where is she? Where _is_ she? GOLDSTEIN!" a man yelled from somewhere in the darkness over Newt's shoulder.

The Hufflepuff paused, unable to believe his eyes when the young woman practically rolled backwards and dove under her desk out of sight. He couldn't help the silent huff of laughter that escaped him because that was _such_ a Harry-like thing to do. He had even _seen_ his husband do _exactly_ that when Mei had gotten upset at him over something or other and he had tried to hide in that split second as the Phoenix flamed into the room.

A short, skinny man with a rat-like face appeared, everything about him so polished he should have squeaked as he walked, even his hair looked polished, though perhaps that was simply the grease he had used to style it into that... well, Newt wasn't sure what it was, but it was certainly popular amidst the suited population of gentlemen within New York. He didn't exactly see the appeal himself.

"Goldstein," the man grit out, glancing briefly at Newt before glaring at the desk the young woman was hidden behind.

Slowly, looking slightly awkward and very reluctant, the woman surfaced from under her desk and gently set her papers down with the air of a naughty child about to receive a scolding.

The man glared at her, "Did you just butt in on the Investigative Team again?" he demanded almost helpless with anger, the young woman glanced to the side, opening her mouth, only for him to steamroll over her, "Where've you been?"

"What?" Miss Goldstein blurted.

The man looked at Newt with a frown, "Where'd she pick you up?"

He started, "Me?"

He looked at the woman who shook her head, dark eyes pleading as her breath stuttered in her chest. He found himself opening and closing his mouth as he tried to think of something that wouldn't incriminate them both – she was only trying to do her job in dragging him here, she was _technically_ right in doing so, and yes while it was a huge inconvenience, he couldn't fault her for it. Thus he didn't really feel it fair to get her into trouble.

He took too long to answer because the man immediately rounded on Miss Goldstein again, "Have you been tracking them Second Salemers again?"

She ducked her head submissively, "Of course not, sir," she demurred.

And that was when Newt felt all the hair on the back of his neck raise, a second man suddenly appearing out of the darkness with a click of shiny shoe heels on the stone floor.

The first man jumped like a scolded cat, "Afternoon, Mister Graves, _sir!_ "

 _ **0000**_

 **I know, it's an update after five months, I'm so sorry. Rest assured this fic** _ **isn't**_ **dead, it's just fighting me tooth and nail. Also, I may have gotten distracted with other fics, and moving house (yes again, but we're locked into this place for two years so I look forward to not going anywhere for a while), and some major changes at my place of work. I may have also been** _ **heavily**_ **distracted by both Final Fantasy 12 and 15. So there might be some fics of that nature in future. But like I said, this fic is NOT dead. I will complete it.**

 **In fact, I would wager there's perhaps five to seven chapters left. Perhaps less depending on how the New York arc plays out.**

Due to request the name of Sa'id has been changed. All characters within my fics unless otherwise stated are fictional, all resemblances to peoples living or dead is entirely coincidental.


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